Lake Livingston, Weaver Dial, and the Cat
I was on the treadmill this morning, watching the flood news on CNN, and there all of a sudden was a picture of the dam on Lake Livingston, along with the news that the dam was damaged by the hurricane, and engineers were releasing water, so everybody on the Trinity River from Lake Livingston on down to Galveston had to get out on account of the floods, which were gonna happen when the water hit. That was sorta exciting. Got us some pine trees in the vicinity.
I'd already heard that the Texas Gulf relatives were safe, having left on Wednesday (no fools, they, though it was even then a long slow drive), and had already had a long discussion with my dad about the probable fate of our East Texas land (which land, being fairly low lying, and near some creek or other that runs into the Trinity, is often wet). He said that the consensus was that the pecan trees in the front yard were going to get blown down and hit the house that my granddad built, and then my aunt was going to rebuild on higher ground. (Notice the way in which my family is able to construct stories before they actually happen. Never miss an opportunity for narrative; that's our credo.)
What higher ground? I wanted to know. Back behind the house, where great-granddad's house was?
No, no, back on the back 40.
Wait a minute, I said. We've been living there since 1851, and we never built on the high ground? I didn't even know there WAS any high ground. How long have we known where the damn high ground was?
I swear. This is the same family, you understand, that ended up in East Texas in the first place cause they'd had to escape over the border into Texas after they shot up a school board meeting. (We've always been interested in education.) Wound up in Trinity county. Went looking for the low ground. They'd been in Sabine; guess they were looking for some place like home.
Anyway. The Trinity River's probably flooded about now, and our land's probably real wet, but I don't think these things are directly connected. It's just wet over there. Wetter than usual, that is. It'd be a bad time to go driving around in "the bottom," which is the section of the land which eats pickup trucks and refuses to spit them out. But it'd be a good time to go on over to "the waterfall," so as to take pictures, so the next time the little cousins get ornery cause we said we'd take them to "the waterfall," and we got there, and there was damn little water and what there was wasn't going anywhere, we can prove to them that ever oncet in a while there's some water there, and it falls. As opposed to when it lays around on the bottom, which is what it mostly does.
Then I need somebody to go on out to Saron Cemetery, cause I need to know if Weaver Dial's monument is still standing, cause I promised (or threatened, depending on how you look at it) my dad that when he goes, he's getting some damn fancy monument that's even bigger than Weaver Dial's, and if it's gone down, that's gonna save me some bucks.
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Update on the condition of Maggie the Cat, Girl of the Streets: though she perked up a bit when we got rid of the urinary tract infection, she's gone back downhill, and it turns out it's her liver. So she's come home to be loved till she dies, which we expect to be fairly soon. This is the good thing about x-rays, for which I am grateful; got no illusions on this. I seen the x-rays. You may send your good wishes, and I will tell her. She will sound ungrateful, but she can't help it; that's the tone of voice her creator gave her.
I'd already heard that the Texas Gulf relatives were safe, having left on Wednesday (no fools, they, though it was even then a long slow drive), and had already had a long discussion with my dad about the probable fate of our East Texas land (which land, being fairly low lying, and near some creek or other that runs into the Trinity, is often wet). He said that the consensus was that the pecan trees in the front yard were going to get blown down and hit the house that my granddad built, and then my aunt was going to rebuild on higher ground. (Notice the way in which my family is able to construct stories before they actually happen. Never miss an opportunity for narrative; that's our credo.)
What higher ground? I wanted to know. Back behind the house, where great-granddad's house was?
No, no, back on the back 40.
Wait a minute, I said. We've been living there since 1851, and we never built on the high ground? I didn't even know there WAS any high ground. How long have we known where the damn high ground was?
I swear. This is the same family, you understand, that ended up in East Texas in the first place cause they'd had to escape over the border into Texas after they shot up a school board meeting. (We've always been interested in education.) Wound up in Trinity county. Went looking for the low ground. They'd been in Sabine; guess they were looking for some place like home.
Anyway. The Trinity River's probably flooded about now, and our land's probably real wet, but I don't think these things are directly connected. It's just wet over there. Wetter than usual, that is. It'd be a bad time to go driving around in "the bottom," which is the section of the land which eats pickup trucks and refuses to spit them out. But it'd be a good time to go on over to "the waterfall," so as to take pictures, so the next time the little cousins get ornery cause we said we'd take them to "the waterfall," and we got there, and there was damn little water and what there was wasn't going anywhere, we can prove to them that ever oncet in a while there's some water there, and it falls. As opposed to when it lays around on the bottom, which is what it mostly does.
Then I need somebody to go on out to Saron Cemetery, cause I need to know if Weaver Dial's monument is still standing, cause I promised (or threatened, depending on how you look at it) my dad that when he goes, he's getting some damn fancy monument that's even bigger than Weaver Dial's, and if it's gone down, that's gonna save me some bucks.
**************************
Update on the condition of Maggie the Cat, Girl of the Streets: though she perked up a bit when we got rid of the urinary tract infection, she's gone back downhill, and it turns out it's her liver. So she's come home to be loved till she dies, which we expect to be fairly soon. This is the good thing about x-rays, for which I am grateful; got no illusions on this. I seen the x-rays. You may send your good wishes, and I will tell her. She will sound ungrateful, but she can't help it; that's the tone of voice her creator gave her.
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