Wk12, Day4: Hurricanes & Control
Nearly 40 years ago, Hurricane Belle hit the east coast. My family lived in Connecticut near the Long Island Sound. Afraid of the storm’s damage potential, my parents took us to stay with Uncle George, Aunt Martha, and our cousins Pudgie, Karen, and Pat. Their house was safely inland.
We didn’t know our cousins well; we only visited on Easter. Each year that Sunday, after church we’d head over for what seemed like an interminable visit. They had a grown-up’s house, and we were kids. All the cousins were in high school, but Pat was the youngest, so by default his room became our hangout. Still, there was little of interest: model pieces, a reptile tank, baseball cards most likely.
These days, with kids in the center of their parents’ lives, juice boxes, treats, and toys would have come with us. In those days, we toughed it out.
I was 9-years old back in ’76 when Hurricane Belle descended. It was fall, not Easter, and our worried parents shuttled the family to Uncle George’s for safety. They had a Cape Cod house, red wooden shingles, with punch out windows in Karen’s second story bedroom. I slept on her floor that night, under one of those eaves. I mention this because, although Belle left Fairfield’s seashore relatively unscathed, further inland one large tree crashed down, felling power lines and blocking the street. Right on top of Karen’s room, to be exact. Just to the left of her window.
As much as we try control our circumstances, life has a way of reminding us our mind’s illusions are just that. Breathing in, breathing out, objects tease our attention as they rise into and fall out of awareness. There and gone in a moment, if we choose to release them, just like the illusion of control.