When the 9:30 Wind Comes at 10:15
Paying Attention
A Shadow Over the Community
When the 9:30 Wind Comes at 10:15
The dry palm fronds whip over the brick pavers unsettling the peace. Dead sticks, brown and crisp, crumble at the touch. Once a part of a living thing, they’ve been shunted aside, discarded. Time never stops for the wind—the 9:30 wind, a staple in a South Florida morning.
What if the gale comes at 10:15, you ask?
Forty-five minutes later?
The hot sun can turn a green leaf black in just a few minutes, a neighbor can be bilked out of her fortune, a pick-up truck can be loaded and everything hauled away, a house can be emptied, all savings stolen.
           If no one notices the truck in front of the house, the strangers entering the house, the furnishings carried out, certainly no one notices there is no breeze, no rumors carried on the wind. If the shades are drawn, there’s no one home.
The nice lady on the corner—where has she gone? Ten minutes ago, she was talking to someone walking a dog. Yesterday she was planting flowers in her garden. Now the word is she’s in a nursing home.
When the 9:30 wind comes at 10:15, anything can happen.
In those forty-five minutes, I became a writer.
I noticed the palm fronds and checked the time.
No one checked on the neighbor. It was too late. It was 10:15.
Yes, this is a true story. It can happen to anyone who lives alone. Predators come in all forms—some can be your best friend.
Are you paying attention? Let me know in the COMMENTS. Is there something you noticed, something you wondered about, something you investigated out of curiosity?
Thank you for subscribing to Get Gutsy. I’m grateful for your support and encouragement.
Remember, there’s no expiration on dreams,
Trish
Here’s the link for my book, Paper Bags:
https://woodhallpress.com/paper-bags
I had to walk away from this for awhile. It reminds me that my grandmothers and mother -in -law never had the chance to say good bye to their homes, treasures, quotidian activities, and the things that reminded them of their lives lived in their homes for more than half a century. They went from their homes to hospitals straight to nursing homes. I've been terrified of this for so many years. My neighbor laid beside her bed for two days after a stroke. I was used to her not being seen for a day, and we were busy with jobs, kids, and I didn't notice that evening lights were missing--she went to bed early sometimes; by late the second day I was too late. I was able to get into the house and found her. She was taken away, also to a nursing home; and her son had to clear out the house. Yes, as I write this I'm trembling with terror again. We try to get our ducks in a row, too. (Well, one of us!) But it seems there's not enough time, or gumption, or mental diligence to do it right. I distract myself--should I finish one quilt project before starting another? Would someone finish my grandson's quilt if I can't? Can the kids find all the right papers if they decide to come and help? Will we ever be prepared?? In other parts of the world, the terror is real right now. Bombs, slavery, drownings, fires, rapes, starvation, devastation, and yet my terror is personal, future, or not-so-future. I need to be thankful for that, for whatever that means! The only only thing we can say about life is that 'all shall be well' and have the faith that it will. Otherwise, we drown in despair and fear. So, All shall be well.
Michelle, my heart goes out to you. It's a hard journey. I hope that you and your father will find some comfort very, very soon.
And Trish--you are in my prayers for a clean, easy surgery with a quick, complete recovery. Your name is on the calendar for some special healing time to spend with your energies. Much love to you!
Are my ears more appreciative, or is the birdsong especially spectacular this spring?
Did my love increase when my father faltered? I want him to live to 120, and yet I’ve rehearsed my eulogy half as many times. I’ve listened closely and studied friends’ reactions when they lost their parents. I am so afraid; I want to be prepared; I’ll never be prepared.
They moved him from hospital to rehab yesterday, and he had another stroke on his first day, and the latest update is: more scans; a new catheter…
I’m so afraid. I’m 700 miles away and picking out slacks. Helpless, helpless, helpless—we all are.