The Slow Drip
The rain made direct pitter-pats into my coffee, and I was happy to be so dry on the inside, while this South Padre Island world seemed to be going under with a cold heavy rain that was lasting for days on end. “Days on end” is an interesting play of words isn’t it?
Eight straight days of weather that included 50-60 mile-per-hour sustained winds, a bay bulging on the bulkheads, rain, no sun, more rain, more wind, less wind, more rain … the locals are standing in their doorways as I walk by them and they keep saying, “… this isn’t normal.” It certainly doesn’t fit my memory of a normal November in the Borderlands.
It is strange enough. Drive 30-miles in any direction, other than a slow boat into the Gulf? It dries out and becomes cloudy, and on my drive to Rockport late last week, it looked like it hadn’t rained a drop. Ahhh, Texas.
Much of the family was in town over the weekend for the formal ending, as they spread my Mom’s ashes in a raging surf. I abstained, and explained that I could do my part anytime and my vision of her wishes were much calmer than the raging waters that only reached the soles of their feet. I will have my own time, without riptides, without gale warnings. I held onto my share of ashes for some later “better” day.
Seeing the family off this morning was an exercise in speed, as the checkout time was perfectly in line with one of the biggest downpours in the last eight days. But we got it done, and we waved through fogged wet car windows as I went my own way once again, and they went theirs.
By now they have been out of the rain for awhile, and their topic has shifted to the next charging station. Maybe they will relax about the charging after enough success, or enough stress. There are tons of Teslas on the Island, and not one single supercharger. Maybe there’s one down at Boca Chica? Elon rhymes with moron. There-there, he is on the spectrum after all.
Category: Body-Mind-Soul, Life Observed, Los Pescadores Coffee and Outfitters, Texas Gulf Coast
