Battle for Dawn

Dawn came late today, delayed by the lingering cloud cover of Hurricane Sandy.  When light finally did find its way through, it was not the soft blend of red, orange, and pink of a breathtaking sunrise; but a silver that made me think of burnished steel.

It was as though the only way for light to return was to slice through the clouds with sweeping strokes of a heavenly sword.

The sword and clouds warred throughout the day with clouds winning back the field with the approach of desk.

Perhaps tomorrow's dawn will bring the blood red of a finished battle.

Where Was the Celebration?

They came in a steady stream...area residents curious to see how Sandy had impacted the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk.

The lines started two blocks to the west. The equivalent return flow should have been indication there was really nothing to see - no reason to linger - but those in line continued on anyway.

What should have been a spontaneous celebration that no severe damage had been done was anything but. Instead, there was a somber atmosphere - like mourners making their way from a cemetery at the conclusion of graveside services.

Some were no doubt disappointed that enforced evacuation had prevented them from witnessing the peak of the storm. To a degree I can understand that - a chance to see mother nature at her angriest can be awe inspiring.

But I suspect most were disappointed there was no mass destruction to witness, and that I will never understand. What possible satisfaction is to be found in observing the loss of homes and livelihoods? Why do so many feel shortchanged when robbed of the opportunity to witness a nightmare they themselves would never wish to endure?

Vacancy

It is now a place of dark dwellings and empty roadways. Gone are the people who gave the town life.The vacancy is all the more noticeable for the lack of tchotchkes that naturally come with habitation. It is as though some insatiable giant traversed the streets during the night gobbling up lawn ornaments, decorative flags, flowerpots, and mailboxes.

Columns of rain now race through the streets, towering gray wraiths driven by banshee winds. Curling streamers of leaves race ahead of the advancing rain, fleeing the destruction promised by the banshee howls that echo between abandoned  homes.

Dry gullies have become racing streams while streams have grown to lakes - lakes whipped into white-capped froth by the same frenzied wind that has turned nurturing rain into an advancing army.

I watch all of this from behind discreetly parted blinds, loath to let the outside forces know of my presence - fearful that such discovery will lead to a focused assault on my home.

Hunkerin' Down

Hurricane Sandy is zeroing in on our section of the world and I'm just a little distraught... cause I'm not fully up to speed on hunkerin' down.

I'm worried that I might not hunker correctly. With all the reporters talking about hunkerin' I'm sure there must be a preferred hunkerin' stance. 

When the winds really start whipping I expect I'll probably go into a three-quarter squat and wrap my arms around my head so that my biceps press against my ears.

But what if that's not right? What if I position myself improperly and get arried away by gale force winds?

I mean, maybe the preferred hunkerin' position is a wide-legged stance with on a slight bend to the knee and finger's laced across the top of the head with elbows free and available for regaining balance?

Or maybe I'm supposed to assume a full squat, press my chin to my chest, and cross my arms over the back of my neck. - No, I'm pretty sure that one's not hunkerin' mode - that sounds like the position to assume just before kissing a certain part of your anatomy good-bye.

Turret Untouched

You've probably seen them... majestic homes built in the early 1900's that have since been divided up into apartments. I pass several of them on my daily drives through Dover, DE.

I've been keeping my eye on one that has been getting a facelift.  Three floors with a towering turret rising up from the top.  Though the scaffolding is down, the turret was never touched. That particular section of the house still shows its age with flaking paint and sagging eaves.

While all of the other windows in the house are decked out with blinds and curtains, the windows in the turret remain empty and dark.  I wonder what lurks behind those uninviting windows that deters renovations. And I wonder if what lurks there is the reason for the recently displayed Apartment for Rent sign that now appears in the third floor window.

Babysitting our granddaughter tonight has reminded me...

Babies refuse to go asleep when you most want them to. 
Babies who are normally content to be by themselves suddenly crave attention when you have other things to do.
Babies are cute for a reason.

Leaves of Opportunity

Looking at the leaves that have begun to pepper the back yard I find myself thinking back to childhood.  A time when fallen leaves were not a chore but an opportunity.  An opportunity to launch myself into a pile of reds, yellows, and browns.  An opportunity to fell rough edges tickle at the back of my neck and sneak their way down inside my shirt. An opportunity to stare up at blue sky and puffy clouds from a crackling pile.

And I find myself thinking it is long past time for me to give myself up to carefree abandonment again.

It Was A Day....

It was a day made for kite flying and fishing...and folks along the shore seized the opportunity. Children, and those still children at heart, guided multi-colored kites through weaving dances and breathtaking dives. Anglers who cast their lines into the ocean were rewarded with bluefish, flounder, and trout. Not a single fisherman sat idle for the fish seemed anxious to be pulled to shore.

In the midst of all the flying and reeling, children danced barefoot at the water's edge in a game of catch me if you can. It was the water that the children dared... scampering first one way then another as the ocean sought their toes.

It was a day of exhilaration, a day of happiness, a day to thrill at the beauty to be found beneath a cloudless blue sky. 

Missing the Boogie Factor

It happened overnight.  Yesterday the leaves on the trees were a uniform green. Tonight the trees are sporting a pastel blend.

Sort of like we humans growing old. One day we're eighteen and the next combing hair over bald spots and carrying a tube of Ben Gay in our pockets.

Trees get the better deal when it comes to reaching the end of a cycle - their riots of color create a festive  mardi gras mood. People develop hollow cheeks following tooth loss, walk with one hand on their hips, and lift their bellies to buckle their belts - not the sorts of things that inspire others to boogie down.

Perhaps some food coloring on the sagging skin?     Nah.

Awkward Embrace

Crisp as a pair of newly pressed trousers, the air has had a palpable edge these past few mornings. Stepping beyond the front door of the house has like stepping into an awkward embrace - a greeting by a familiar turned cold and distant.

The jackets I now don protect me from chill temperatures and absent warmth.

Shoulder Tap

There are two conditions that make us feel most alive.  Ecstasy and Fear.

As we approve All Hallows Eve, the invisible mantle of fear weighs more heavily on our shoulders. It doesn't help that shadows angle farther and linger longer with the arrival of October.  The things that lurk in those shadows scratch at our heels and whisper to us as we pass.

If we're honest with ourselves, we will admit that our adrenaline seldom rushes the way it does when we sense are at risk of facing things for which we have no explanation. Wraiths that scurry though tree lines, voices that blend with the hum of appliance motors, and footsteps approaching from empty rooms all send electricity racing through our bodies.

Now, as we move into the period when the veil between worlds thins, we are faced with having to consider that the things we detect from the corners of eyes just might tap us on the shoulder. And it is then that we will know what it feels like to be alive... for a few moments anyway.

Continuing Ingenuity

Every now and then you see something that gives you faith in the continuing ingenuity of Americans.  Something that allows you to count on a brighter tomorrow. Something like a motorized stroller.

Picture Perfect Day

The ocean lapped gently at the shore - no waves on the agenda this day. Though gusting winds cut through dune grass and kicked up swirls of sand, some folks still found the day pleasant enough for a dip in the salty water.

As for myself, despite the cloudless blue sky overhead I had chosen jeans and a sweatshirt in preference to swim trunks and a beach towel. Appropriately protected from the chill breeze I watched the Cape May - Lewes Ferry make its lazy way around the tip of the breakwater and turn toward a waiting berth at the docks.

Seagulls greeted the ferry's occupants with impatient shrieks. The gulls alternately spiraled and dove in the hopes that lunchtime leftovers would be offered up as prizes.

I found my own prize in the perfection of the day.

Fiction - or - Fiction

Hmmm.... there's something I should be doing right about now.  Oh yeah, watching the debate between the Vice-Presidential candidates.

Or... I could go back to working on my fiction novel.

It's fiction either way... so I might as well keep typing.

A Chimney Should Be....

When did chimneys become metal pipes boxed within a wooden column covered with vinyl siding?

I'm sure the change began a while ago, but it only just registered with me this afternoon.

A chimney should be made of brick or stone and lend a sense of permanent structure to a home. It should be a spire of masonry that communicates both the warmth of the hearth within and the stolid weathering of storms without.

I've seen ancient brick chimneys rising up alone in the middle of fields where a house once stood. The house had not survived the ravages of either weather or fire, but the chimney had.

That's what chimneys are supposed to do - survive.   I'm sure no one will never see a wood encased metal pipe standing alone in a field eighty years from now.

Leaving the Cocoon

I had forgotten was it was like - waking in the morning, throwing back the covers, and wanting to immediately return to the warm cocoon.

There is an unpleasant urgency brought to the morning by the frantic search for a heavy robe, stumbling rush to the thermostat, and the too-long wait for the water in the shower to produce a welcoming steam.

It seems hot oatmeal rather than a blend of chilled fruit is due to make a return to the breakfast menu.

Unsuspecting Traveler

With the night turned unwelcoming by a chilly drizzle, it would have been only natural for anyone having to venture forth to do so with shoulders hunched and head ducked forward. Peripheral vision blocked by the hood of the slicker a nighttime traveler would no doubt wear, vision would have been restricted to the glistening roadway in front of his feet.

And so missing the boiling sky above, the unsuspecting traveler would be blissfully unaware of the lights flickering within the churning clouds. Lights not of lightning strikes but lanterns flickering on the sides of a shadowed carriage. An ominous conveyance, the carriage moved unseen as the team of black horses drawing it threaded their way through seams in the clouds.

Eyes ablaze with fire, nostrils spewing a yellow-green steam, the massive horses would spend little effort in bearing down on a man with no idea he had need to run. With a single flick of a whip put to no use other than to snatch the unsuspecting from the streets, the coachman would easily add another prize to his coach of wailing souls.

In the following morning, when dawn broke with promises of new glory, friends and family of the man who had set out the night before would have no reason to suspect he had been carried from the face of the earth. Yet they would wonder of him for many a day... until there should come a need for one of them to journey afoot on a night made unwelcoming by a misty rain.

Unwelcome Harbinger

It seems to happen this way every year.  I convince myself there will be benefits to be found in the post-summer season: warm days will still abound, trees will shimmer in multi-color beauty, and crisp air will bring renewed energy.

And then I see them as I did tonight. A scattering of leaves across the patio. Tree leaves with edges curled as though they died in some unimaginable agony. Only tinged in brown, robbed of an opportunity to go out in a blaze of color, these leaves are harbingers of what is to come. And I realize that no matter what hopes I hold we are spiraling into a period of barren branches, darkness outlasting daylight, and a cold that leads to a cataloging of every joint in our bodies.

It is for these friendless months of the year that the universe gifted us with adult beverages.

Just Doesn't Fit

For tradespeople such as carpenters, electricians, and plumbers who roam the roads in box vans, those roll up doors on the back of the vans are ideal locations for advertising their business.  People behind the vans are exposed to the advertisement the whole time the truck is on the road - like a mobile billboard.

The advertising covers a range from bland to creative. Every now and then I see one that just makes me scratch my head.

Such as the electrician I was riding behind this evening. The back door of his truck listed perhaps twenty different services he provided: installing ceiling fans, wiring additions, installing garage door openers.  But at the very top of the list was.... cordless window candles. 

So just who calls an electrician for a cordless candle?

Spinning Those Discs

When the Grand Funk Railroad song We're an American Band came on the radio I flashed back to the days of vinyl 33's and 45's.

In my mind I saw the one of those adapters that snapped into the center of a 45 - a piece of plastic shaped like a couple of plastic S's that allowed the 45 to be centered on the same narrow spindle that kept LP's centered on the turntable.

That memory took me to the select few 45's that had been produced in translucent neon vinyl. There were few things as far out as a lime green record spinning on a stereo.

While I certainly like the convenience of CD's Ipods's and digital downloads I wonder what it would have been like if we had never had vinyl.  We might never have discovered the hidden messages to be heard when a record was played backward or at a lower speed. We would never have stressed over Paul being dead or wondered at the darker side of Black Sabbath.

Then again I guess we might wonder at what is hidden is today's data bytes.

Play or Pay

The US Postal Service misses a 5 billion dollar payment to the federal government because Congress can't seem to vote on approving the restructuring of the USPS.

Taxpayers are looking at a substantial tax increase at the end of the year if Congress doesn't soon vote on extending tax cuts.

The U.S. faces a downgrading of its credit rating if Congress doesn't soon vote on a bill that will set a timeline for balancing the budget.

U.S. companies have trillions of dollars in liquid assets they refuse to invest because Congress has failed to identify a clear course of financial responsibility for the country.

I have a solution for all of this.  If members of Congress continue to refuse to get along, redirect their salaries to pay for at least a portion of the problems they cause by refusing to act.

Where's John Wayne when you need him?