Since the time change I have been waking up around 6:15 or 6:30. No news there. That's when I usually got up before the time change. It struck me this morning around 4:30 (when I woke up the first time, but just for a quick pit stop) how interesting it was how the time stamp resets itself in an area after some significant event. In Galveston that time stamp is most often affected by hurricanes. The 1900 Storm, for sure. To a lesser degree perhaps, Hurricane Carla or Hurricane Alicia. And most recently, of course, Hurricane Ike.
Everything around here is referenced as "before the Storm" or "since Ike," and it's a tribute to your "Galveston-ness" if you immediately know what they are talking about. Hurricane Ike was back in 2008. That means it's been nearly four years ago. New folks are coming to Galveston now – folks who have never been through a storm. They have that fresh start mentality, like nothing can stop them in their pursuit of a peaceful, happy retirement, or at least a "getting away from the stress of the big city, fishing, playing at the beach with the kids in my spare time" world view. They greet the guarded, knowing nods of Islanders who have "been there" either with a wave of the hand in brash dismissal or a concerned, "teach me what I need to know to really survive here" air that seems to border on humility. Many of the new folks are from over in Texas, though, so humility may not be the right description to use. Maybe it's closer to a sociological fascination with this strange culture that has developed. And it takes at least a little bit of "strange" to voluntarily choose to live on a sand bar just off the coast of Texas – a windbreak that keeps the swamps from totally overwhelming Houston when a real rain comes in from the Gulf.
Of course for those born here a totally different dynamic must be factored into the equation. There is just something gripping about being Born On Island with sand already between your toes that tends to tug from within, calling you home. Even having lived through those difficult years around high school when the prevailing feeling around here is usually more closely akin to hopelessness than to pride, the sand is still there. That one memory that pops into your conscience. Looking for sand dollars on the beach. Playing Little League baseball or fast-pitch softball. A safe and profitable Halloween in Gulf Village. Sweeping gutters to make enough money to buy a pack of baseball cards.
Guess I could go on and on with that list. And it would certainly be different for everyone. My brothers would have to add surfing. I never did any of that. I was too busy playing pickup baseball in over at Zion Lutheran Church or trading baseball cards with my buddies in the neighborhood. My sons weren't born here, but they would add soccer, I'm sure.
I wonder how long this "new" time stamp will stick around? I guess the duration depends on the severity of the storm. If that's the case, we'll be in Post-Hurricane Ike mode for quite some time to come. Or at least until the next hurricane. I'd sure choose the former. But then we don't get to choose, do we?
Matthew 8:24-27 says, "Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, 'Lord, save us! We're going to drown!'
He replied, 'You of little faith, why are you so afraid?' Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.
The men were amazed and asked, 'What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!'"
Father, thank you for walking with us through Hurricane Ike and throughout these Post-Hurricane Ike years. It's so good to know you, Time Stamper. Amen.
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