June 17 – “Razz Review”

Well, we hunkered down yesterday and prepared for all the horrible-ness of the incoming Tropical Storm Bill (“Oh, no ……..”).  Cailyn was with us all day since Nathan was on shift and April was sleeping after working all night in the ER.  Bring it on.  Aaaand … we’re still waiting.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, we had some bands of fairly high winds and it rained throughout the day.  That’s still going on, in fact.  But tropical storm force?  Not this time.  Not … yet.

At one point we even drove out to the church, hoping to check out some really high water.  There were one or two spots near the airport, and the Gulf was really churning, occasionally hitting as far as the seawall itself (Perfect setup for my cohorts in reporting from the TV world.  But you know how they are.  Unlike us on-the-spot local guys, they tend to way overplay what is happening).  But for the most part it was smooth sailing.  In fact, Cailyn got bored and ended up playing games on her iPad (er, not bored so much.  Distracted.  Yes, that’s it.  Distracted by the ongoing demands of the technological side of reporting).  There was a group staying in the church retreat center, so we stopped in to check on them.  They were staying indoors, for sure.  A sea of worried faces looked up at me as I entered the room.  Huddled together in a small mass against one wall, they were obviously in fear for their very lives.  Who was this mysterious person with a key who was braving the frightening elements to check on them?  (Those group leaders were really excited that the teenagers were actually playing cards and interacting face to face.  Nice job making lemonade out of lemons, there, Mr. Youth Pastor).

There was that one serious crisis event, however.  As we drove down Hwy 3005, our driver courageously fighting the wind all the way, we saw the remnants of the horrible storm surge and terrifying winds that most certainly had buffeted the area not long before our arrival.  There in the very median of the highway, was … someone’s trash can.  Oh, the calamity of it all.  Now they will be forced to spend hour upon hour, searching mindlessly, sifting through the rubble that no doubt remains of their back yard, refusing to quit until the precious missing heirloom is back where it belongs.  (Well, either that or they will call the city and request a new one). 

We stopped briefly along the seawall as well.  I waded through the debris (Yes, it was virtually covered in debris.  At least five or six hunks of seaweed and even some sand).  But I was determined.  It was my mission.  I wanted a firsthand look at the waves crashing over the man-made barrier.  Best I could do was a few shots of the water rushing in amongst the granite boulders at its base.  I did feel the sting of blowing rain upon my face as I sought to make my report complete with an appropriate selfie.  I don’t suppose it will ever get me a Pulitzer Prize, but it did garner a coveted Razz Review from my wife and granddaughter.  Sigh.  A reporter’s sacrifice is never truly appreciated. 

Psalms 34:2-3 says, “My soul will boast in the Lord; let the afflicted hear and rejoice.  Glorify the Lord with me; let us exalt his name together.”

Father, thank you for protection.  Thank you for the quiet night at the fire station.  Ride herd on the remnants of Bill as it brings rain to our brothers and sisters up north.  Amen.