Tsunamis, Tornados and Trains

Tsunami warning signs line the roads to and from the Oregon beaches. I have always wanted one sign in particular: "Now Leaving Tsunami Danger Zone," complete with brilliant aquamarine wave. The tsunami as metaphor somehow runs thin right now. I'm rather enjoying the cable news stations use of video with bodies floating in the oceans off Thailand right now, however.

I opened my stocking and found a colorfully woven sack. "There's a wonderful story behind that," my mother says (there always is). "My friend's daughter was a foreign exchange student in Bolivia, and she was riding a bus down there, and she died." And my mother's friend decided to start a community weaving project in her daughter's memory. And the indigenous people weave these fabulous sacks. And it benefits their community. Or something. And isn't that wonderful?

My family has owned and operated a cemetery and funeral home for over 100 years. My mother always has odd stories which end with someone having cancer, someone dying, someone's touching memorial. Isn't that wonderful?

We care so very much. Sometimes I just want the pretty, colorful sack.

Today I watched a plastic bag floating in the wind. I thought about tornados and how the plastic bag would have been ripped to shreds, and I could not have watched to see where the bag would eventually hit the ground. The sky looked like beach glass or the ocean at Tulum. And an odd reflection on the side of a building created a pattern that looked like hieroglyphics.

When I remember a freight train, mostly I remember a blur of grey and red and the blaring, cacophonous sound like a distorted ambulance blaring. I want to remember the tracks, and the trees, and the faces of the passengers as they memorize the scenery.

I tried on my suit for her and she said "that's good. the fabric is very classic. I wouldn't wear heels any higher than that. and the pants are OK, but you might go one size up. it's like I was telling my assistant in her performance review. a secretary can wear a, certain, fit. but as you move up...I just wouldn't go any more fitted."

Today I stood in a dressing room before a fun skirt, a summer top, and a conservative cashmere sweater. But, I called her. I asked for her help. I told her I'd gotten the suit jacket in a larger size. And, when I got off the phone, the sweater came with me.

But, I still may get a pair of wellies like Shelley’s. I don't mind a late night walk through a storm now and then.