Music and Cats

I usually maintain that people swear either because they lack verbal imagination or because they are unable to verbally articulate their feelings. As I drove to work this morning, I was apparently suffering from a severe lack of verbal imagination. I think I had a pretty good handle on my feelings.

Last night, I waited for my parents to call. When I’d spoken with them on Wednesday evening, they were packing to leave Houston; they planned to drive yesterday to my grandmother’s house in Crockett, 120 miles north of Houston. I’d seen the photos of I-45, and knew the traffic was terrible, so I didn’t expect to hear from them until fairly late. They said they’d call when they got to Crockett. The phone rang a couple of times last night, but the callers were Paul’s sister Vanessa and our friend Chris, both checking on my family. Everyone has left town, I assured them. Mom and Dad didn’t call, but I didn’t really worry.

This morning, before leaving for work, I decided to call them. I started to dial my grandmother’s phone number, but, not wanting to worry her if they weren’t there, I decided to call my parents’ phone first. My mother answered on the first ring. They’re still in Houston. After listening yesterday morning to the traffic reports, and the predictions that Rita would not hit Houston directly, they decided to stay.

The neighborhood in which my parents live is not prone to flooding. It is not, however, immune to high winds and the projectiles such winds may hurl. There are no interior rooms in the modern house that my father designed and built for our family in 1963. The flat-roofed, single-story structure has walls of sliding glass doors in living room, dining room, kitchen and den, skylights in the kitchen and master bath, and large windows in every bedroom. My father has boarded up the windows in the bedroom on the north side of the house; that is where they’ll ride out the storm. My mother, in an uncharacteristically breezy tone, quipped, “I guess we’ll see how strong a house your father designed for us.”

(My sister and brother-in-law, on the other hand, packed up their boys and their dogs, and left town on Wednesday. They’re now at his family’s country place 100 miles inland from Houston. Heavy rains may mean more alligators in their pond, but I’m less worried about them.)

Since this morning, Rita has decreased in strength, and its projected path appears to be even farther from Houston. I believe that my parents will be OK, but until Rita makes landfall, I’m going to be on edge. And my verbal imagination may have occasional lapses for the next couple of days.

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