Rainstorm (Revised)

 

A phalanx of powerful rain drops fall from the unremitting charcoal sky. Each drop propels itself down onto the car hood with such ferocity that the surface of the vehicle reverberates, as if under attack from a battery of bass drums. Each raindrop then jumps straight up for a small measure to land again in a timpani of lighter drum beats. Little rivulets leap over the edge of the car to merge with comrades on the flooded road. My eyes watch, mesmerized by orchestration and choreography, the beautiful ballet of the inundation.

            Then my brain interrupts, warning my consciousness of the drenching danger. My hands grip the wheel, and I force my eyes to focus on the deluged road. Through the windshield and the thick mist ahead, I can just make out the indefinite blinking taillights of the car in front, and through the fogged-up rear view window, the vague headlights of the car behind. Our brave convoy slogs slowly, single-file down the diminished highway.   Other drivers, perhaps with more discretion, have pulled over. There are two semis and a dozen cars pulled off to the side of the road.

            I am too frightened to pull over. Images from recent newscasts sequence through my head: newly formed rapids rushing down Main Streets, cars carried away by the whitewater, drivers air-lifted from the roofs of cars, head-shots of people who drowned in the torrents. Also, the memory of driving home in the middle of a surprise spring blizzard decades ago, still haunts me. My sister, peering through a fogged-up windshield, cautiously navigated the snow-clogged road. We watched in horror, as almost every car that tried to pull slipped or flipped against the trees and rocks on the side of the Thruway. Today, at this risky moment, I resolve to forge ahead, tense but alert, just as my sister had.

            Finally, in the distance, I see a clearing in the threatening skies, a patch of shimmer. I can see the low forms of the Berkshire Hills on the horizon, contrasted by a dull glare above them. As the rainfall lessens, and I drive toward the brightness, I feel my shoulders drop three inches and a gasp of relief escape my lips. My beloved Berkshires are revealed again. There is a whisper of promise ahead.

Marsha H.

August Pleasure

 

The last two weeks in August are the best time of summer. This is a transition period of the hot weather cooling down; many folks take their vacations at this time resulting in less traffic, no crowded stores and the feeling of energetic vacancy.

The mornings are cooler, the days are hot, and the nights are refreshing.

The beach gets quiet; the earth has moved on its axis making the days shorter and shorter by the hour. There’s a leaf here and there turning brown, yellow and red on random trees hinting at what is to come.

There is a gap at this time between the beginning of the new school year and buying school supplies and the anticipation of fall with cool wind and falling leaves.

Most people have their own idea of ending their summer. For me it is these last two weeks of August. Meteorologists and Climatologist say summer ends on August 31^st. I have to agree.

There will be an occasional hot day for a few weeks and that is OK. I will reflect on my summer activities and remember the roar of the ocean and the sea gulls stealing food and the hot sand in my toes and quietly look forward to the fall.

Georgia

Rolling on the River

 

I can hear Tina Turner right now signing this tune.

Big wheels keep on turning 

Proud Mary keeps on burning 

Rolling, rolling

Rolling on the river

Rolling, say we rolling

Rolling on the river

I feel incredibly lucky to live very near the East River where day and night I can take a ferry to midtown Manhattan or sit on the Long Island City Piers and watch tankers, blue sailboats, boys on jet skis, barges pushing coal, orange sightseeing yachts, the police guarding the United Nations in their boats.

I can hear the wave’s crash onto the manmade walls, the wakes quickly rippling sideways resulting from a passing nautical vehicle.

I have been to the river at four in the morning listening to the current. The current has no conception of time. It moves at its own pace. I have been to the river in storms. White crested fast-moving streams of cold black water well over eight feet high are common.

On moonlight nights when the tide is low there are gushes and occasional avalanches of smashing water on pointy barely hidden rocks.

As I take a ferry ride to Manhattan, I know this closest watercraft to a Mississippi River Boat I will ever see in New York City.

Happily, I sing: Rolling, rolling, Rolling on the river, Rolling, say we rolling, Rolling on the river, do, do, do, do…………………………………

Georgia

Singing in the Rain

 

Dark mood; dreary, deadly dark moods. I wake each morning with high anxieties; a high level of fears; always, “What if…..?” What if this bad thing occurs? What if this terrible event happens? Such recurring fears and scares!! My children hear it in my voice on the frequent phone calls. Carl trying to alleviate the pain with cheerful suggestions. “Mom, sit on the patio; enjoy your garden; enjoy the breeze today.” Emily, arriving from Boston to lift me out of the black hole.

I haven’t been to a movie theater in more than three years. What movies are the current rage? Emily, my superwoman without a cape, without a big letter S on her pink T- shirt. “Mom, dad, I made reservations at the Cinemart movie theater. Dad’s seeing Oppenheimer  and you and I are seeing BARBIE.  I know, I saw it but I am happy to see it again.” Dressing in pink is a must. So out of my “blues” and into pink shirt, pants, anklets and jacket, we join all the other pink clad members to see BARBIE. This is “a happening.” Everyone on the line becomes your best friend. The ages seem to vary from eight to eighty; adding me into the scene makes it eight to ninety two. The elderly woman in front of me has her two vintage Barbies poking out of the pocket of her shoulder bag purse.  

In the theater, Emily gets Ben seated comfortably in Oppenheimer. BARBIE is starting a half hour later so she has time to seat me in Row E seat 6 teaching me how to use the buttons to make the leg portion come up and out. Unable to reserve seats together, she s in Row D directly in front of me. Two friendly ladies are seated to the right of me and two to the left. They all came together. 

The opening scene is hilarious and I think I’m going to be as content as my grandson Isaac who said BARBIE was the funniest movie he’d ever seen. The action is clear and needs little dialogue. Unfortunately, while my hearing aids provide volume, they don’t seem to provide clarity. The performers could have been talking in a foreign  language. In fact, that would have been better because then I would have had close caption. Laughter, to the left of me; laughter to the right.I’m the only one not laughing because I can’t make out any of the dialogue . Suddenly the woman two seats to my left leaves the theater. “Oh well”, I think, “The lady must be going to pee.” Then, her friend leaves also. “Strange, ten dollars and leaving before it’s over.” When suddenly, it hits me!!! Not the revelation on the women’s departure!!  DRIP! DRIP! DRIP! The water is coming down from the ceiling . !While it wasn’t a river of water, a riparian scene, I’m getting wet!!  I’m getting soaked!  Barbie is singing, but not in the rain!! There’s no rain on the screen. I’m drenched and screaming to my daughter who is enjoying this movie for the second time and is not getting soaked like her crazy screaming mother, one row behind her. ” I’m going to float out of here! Im going to swim out of here!” “Mom, stop yelling! You are spoiling the movie for everyone!!!!”

My daughter races me into the lobby where we meet the two other drenched, soaking wet  women. Standing along side them is the friend with the purse holding the the two vintage Barbies. Her wet face was not caused by the ceiling water; it was the result of tears. She had lost the head of one of her treasured dolls. Fortunately, with flashlight in hand, she and the usher had been able to find the missing head resting under the woman’s seat. We never learned  where the water was coming from. On a positive note, it did provide for laughter; the BARBIE adventure  did lift my spirits and shake me out of my blue mood. All of us in our wet pink outfits were a sorry sight, but also a funny sight.

I do plan to see BARBIE on my TV if it is streaming with closed captions; no water will be pouring down in my TV room . 

Ethyl Haber

The Sand and the Sea

 

I used to have a love affair with the sea, with its beautiful, relaxing waves rolling in and out over the sand but we had to break up. My love affair with the sea went downhill when I became more mature and realized what I would have to endure to continue seeing the sea. Not only that, the beach came between us.

Picture this…my friends and I are driving in bumper to bumper traffic to get to the beach. Then we start looking for a parking space as we get closer to the beach, knowing we will need St. Anthony to help us with this one, since he’s the finder of lost things. After parking, we start unloading the things we’ll need for the beach, such as a chair, umbrella, towel, suntan lotion, lunch bags and a hat. Did I mention I haven’t even had a glance of the sea yet?

Now it’s time to take the walk on the sand to get to see my love, the sea.  When my feet touch the sand, they turn into melting candles on a birthday cake. I look down and count my toes to make sure they’re still all there.

When my friends and I finally sit down in our chairs, we can see how magnificent the sea is and I say to myself, “Now I know why I love the sea!”  I sit down in my beach chair, close my eyes, and try to catch a little relaxation time. But my mind starts thinking about all it took to get to the sea today. It’s not worth it. I think about the sand, that sand that finds every nook and cranny of your body, the sand that gets all over everything, even  the  sandwich you just started eating.  The sand will even be found a year later when I’m vacuuming the car.

I thought to myself, I do love the sea, but I’m sorry you beautiful sea, going to the beach came between us. The drive, the parking, the hot sand and so on and so on is just too much. Maybe we can see each other again if it’s on a ferry or a fishing boat, or at a restaurant with you as the view, but as far as a relationship including the beach, that is absolutely out of the question!

Ellen

Beach Visit

 

Summer is not complete without at least one visit to the ocean. The breeze, smell of salt, sharp shells, hot dogs and cokes, plastic folding chairs, umbrellas designed just for the beach, children making sand castles, bathing suits that fit and bathing suits that don’t. Towels of every color, swimming, surfing, beach volleyball. I always bring the obligatory ham and cheese sandwiches, potato salad and macaroni salad and ice tea.

Seagulls stealing chips and sandwiches if I don’t pay attention. Small crop planes dragging ads for cell phones, soda and sun tan lotion.

Putting my toes in the cold water as the waves crash and splash on the shore is cleansing my mind and spirit. Wind blowing my hair, sand in cracks and crevices I forgot about.

With the sea’s cerulean beauty and rhythmic cadence invokes moments of introspection and wonder. The sea is a sanctuary of peace and inspiration. I leave an offering of seven pennies, brown sugar, and white candle broken in seven pieces, some perfume and ask to be kept in the mantle of the sea's protection.

Watching the powerful waves makes my petty concerns and worries fade into the horizon.

As the sun descends, the night swiftly envelops the water akin to an indigo window shade.

The lifeguards and most visitors have gone home.  Time for me to go too, refreshed, rejuvenated, renewed. I have been blessed by the sea once again.

Georgia

Cigarettes (cont.)

 

I was in an Uber on my way to a medical test. I was staring out the window. We were stuck in traffic. It’s sweltering outside. The Uber was cold with blasting air conditioning.

 A worker who lifts heavy beer, soda and water onto trucks from the discount warehouse walked slowly past my window. He leaned against the hood of a red van and lit a cigarette. I was taken back twenty-three years ago when I quit smoking and felt the nicotine rush and the Marlboro taste. I loved smoking; my body was so addicted and manipulated by nicotine addiction. The craving was overwhelming for a few moments. It would have been so easy to light a cigarette. So darn easy to get addicted again.

At that moment I snapped back to the reality of the Uber ride. I took a deep breath and was so very thankful that I don’t smoke anymore.

Proudly thinking about my smoke-free life, a swift change in the weather caught me by surprise. Mixed with the sweltering air was an eerie coolness, a precursor to a storm.

Dark clouds clustered above with a distant rumble of thunder. The wind rose up and swirled the sidewalk garbage into the tops of the thick leaves of the summer trees.

The worker I was watching tossed his cigarette and ran for cover as the rain started to fall. Traffic was still struggling to move and I watched the windshield wipers sway left to right.

Georgia

Rainstorm

A phalanx of powerful raindrops drops down from the unremitting charcoal sky. Each drop propels itself down onto the car hood with such ferocity that the surface of the vehicle reverberates, as if under attack from a battery of bass drums. Each raindrop then jumps straight up for a small measure to land again in a timpani of lighter drum beats. Little rivulets leap over the edge of the car to merge with comrades on the flooded road. My eyes watch, mesmerized by orchestration and choreography, the beautiful ballet of the inundation.

            Then my brain interrupts, warning my consciousness of the drenching danger. My hands grip the wheel.  and I force my eyes to focus on the inundated road. Through the windshield and the thick mist ahead, I can just make out the indefinite blinking taillights of the car in front, and through the fogged-up rear view window, the vague headlights of the car behind. Our brave convoy slogs slowly, single-file down the diminished highway.   Other drivers, perhaps with more discretion, have pulled over. There are two semis and a dozen cars pulled off to the side of the road. I am too frightened to pull over, as recent news images of cars floating down the rushing waters of flooded of streets and drivers air-lifted from the roofs of cars, flit across my brain. The memory of driving home with my sister in the middle of a surprise spring blizzard decades ago, still haunts me. As we watched in horror, almost every car that tried to pull off the snow-clogged road slipped or flipped against the trees and rocks on the side of the Thruway. Today, at this risky moment, I resolve to forge ahead, tense but alert.

Finally, in the distance, I see a clearing in the threatening skies, a patch of shimmer. I can see the low forms of the Berkshire Hills on the horizon contrasted by dull glare above them. As the rainfall lessens, and I drive toward the light, I feel my shoulders drop three inches and a gasp of relief escape my lips. My beloved Berkshires are revealed again. Perhaps there is the promise of a good vacation ahead.

 

Marsha H

8.4.2023