Twist of fate

On a muggy summer day in 1968 my grandmother died suddenly with cerebral hemorrhage. A torrent under pressure was let loose in her brain without warning. We had traveled together to Kalamazoo, Michigan to visit her daughter. Only now I see the irony. Southern Michigan lies at the edge of Tornado Alley. A tornado warning had sounded the night before she was struck. I remember the wailing siren though a twister never touched down. Unfamiliar with the sound...I tried to hide my alarm.

In 1989 Hurricane Hugo hit Charleston, SC and was considered the second costliest Atlantic hurricane ever. My friend Joe had taken refuge with many others in the school gymnasium. The terrifying night was black with loss of power. Over the screaming wind you could hear a sound like popping popcorn which later was thought to be the snapping of hundreds of tree trunks.

Hurricanes start with a low pressure formed when heavy cool air falls into warm seas. Like a draining sink it spins according to the earth’s rotation. The storms begin off the coast of West Africa and are tossed at the Americas guided by the trade winds. Their paths are unpredictable. What if some enemy or wizard could salt the sky with heavily reducing agents to create the favorable conditions? I had this dream that aerosolized silver sprayed in the atmosphere off Cape Verde could create the quarter mile wide low pressure that started the pot boiling. Does fate determine who lies in the next path? Our coasts could be pelted as if brutish paper airplanes were thrown by some would-be agitator. 2004 saw 4 major tempests in Florida alone...I wonder--James

Mileposts

August. Back-to-school..It was August 1999 when we took our firstborn daughter to college. Her arrival 18 years before had changed our designation from couple to family. She is bright and kind to everyone. Remembering the days leading up to and just after driving her to The University can still bring a few tears. It wasn’t so long ago we were marking her first day of school. There must be something special about losing that first one to the big world out in the slipstream. Both Peg and I had that wordless smothering grief that comes with loss on the 6 hour drive home.

I walked around Target yesterday and change was in the air. For many students and teachers the summer is about over though the calendar says we’re exactly half way. Shopping carts were piled high with the telltale signs of “new dorm room”. There were several moms paired with son or daughter in this ritualistic dance of acquisition. I wasn't paying much attention while I shopped until I overheard the 45-ish mom and the 18-ish daughter with the bulging cart arguing over whether she needed hand towels. I was thinking, “big deal-so what” before it hit me... It wasn’t about the towels. Then the memories flooded in.

The road of life has many markers. Some are artificial such as your 40th or 50th birthday while some have legal meaning such as your 21st. Leaving home for good must rank up there with the mileposts having the most emotional significance. Leaving the nest, sink or swim… Mom, I’m running with scissors. It’s all about separation.
The student arguing over towels may have been an example of, “getting angry enough to leave.”
Hmmm, maybe it would have been easier to let her go if my daughter had been a little aggravating that last summer. --James www.flight-of-ideas.com