Chris and I drove to a place called Tres
Palacios yesterday to scatter the ashes of Chris’s Dad near his favorite
fishing hole. I sure can’t fault him for
wanting that. I had never been there,
and Chris hasn’t been since her childhood fishing trips with her Dad. Fortunately both of her brothers were there
to lead the way in their own truck. We
drove for what seemed like hours to get there.
Paved roads gave way to gravel and still we kept going. We even drove over a small wooden bridge with
alligators in the water below, just leering up at us, daring us to come on in
for a quick swim. Where were we?
There were hawks everywhere soaring through
the skies searching for a delectable morsel for their supper. We passed mile after mile of fence with barbed
wire at the top. We saw mad-made lakes
more often than seemed possible. And
then, off in the not-so-distant distance, we saw … the nuclear power plant. I commented to Chris, “If we see just one
grotesquely deformed cow, I think we should turn around and go home.”
We finally made it to some water, though,
and the view was pretty spectacular.
Access to the water was easy and there weren’t that many people
there. I have to say, it would be a
perfect fishing spot. Nice call,
Harold. The four of us gathered at the
water’s edge. I quietly read a prayer
and blessing taken from the ceremony for a burial at sea. Then Chris’ younger brother waded into the
water and scattered the ashes. Not a lot
of fanfare or bells and whistles. Just a
quick, quiet, solemn obedience to a final request. Rest in Peace, Harold Hamilton.
After some goodbye hugs we separated to head
to Victoria and Galveston. On our way
back we saw what I was certain were numerous nuclear-affected cows. They must have been. They had these large bumps on their backs …
At the front entrance to the plant there
was a bit of a traffic jam. As we
approached we could see why. One car was
in a ditch. A brand new reed pickup
truck was in the middle of the street … wrapped in the traffic light that
should have been hanging above.
Hmm. Was it a simple traffic
accident? Or was it the effects of the
nuclear radiation? Perhaps it was aliens
interested in the nuclear technology? We
weren’t held up that long at the wreck sight, and everyone appeared to be
fine. DPS was already there and
directing traffic.
A bit further down the road brought us to
beautiful downtown Wadsworth, Texas. It
must certainly be a booming industrial complex.
We even saw a run-down, ragged, old building with a For Lease sign on
it. It added, “Will renovate to suite.” So … would that be “we’ll fix it up into a
suite” or “we’ll fix it as you like it (to suit you)”? Didn’t have much time to ponder the
issue. Wadsworth only lasted about three
blinks. We finally made our way to our
chosen supper destination, personally recommended by Ed and Pat Jackson (a pair
of long-time Seasiders). It’s called the
Red Snapper Inn in Surfside Texas. We ordered
a bowl of gumbo and the seafood platter.
Folks, that was the best crab cake I have ever eaten, bar none. I’ll definitely have to add that place to my
recommendation list for Seaside visitors.
And I think we’ll be back.
Titus 2:7-8 says, “In your teaching show integrity, seriousness and soundness of speech
that cannot be condemned, so that those who oppose you may be ashamed because
they have nothing bad to say about us.”
Father, give Chris and her brothers and
sister a special touch of comfort today.
Amen.
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