Month: August 2017

We Are the Light

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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It’s Monday morning, August 28, 2017, a date that will forever be branded into my heart. I am in the room that I set up for my grandchildren to sleep in when they come to visit, and I am thinking of them and wishing that I was with them. I want to wake up from what feels like a horrible nightmare, but I know that it is all too real. The true extent of what has happened to my beloved city is only beginning to hit me and everyone else. I have cried all morning long. My emotions are raw and unmoored. I feel relief that I am still safe, but there is a gnawing sense of guilt that I have been fortunate while others are suffering so. I want to rush out and help to rebuild lives, but the streets all around are still hopelessly blocked with high water. There is more rain in the forecast. Our ultimate fates have not yet been determined. This fickle storm is striking here and there and everywhere. We have no idea whether or not we will become victims of its wrath before it decides to leave us.

Even as I write I have friends and family members who have had to evacuate their flooded homes. Last night Mike and I had to coach a niece in the safest way to shut down the electric power in her home as the waters crept dangerously close to the electrical outlets on the walls. Knowing that she had to sit in the dark in the second story of her home while the first one flooded was disturbing, but even more so was the realization that there was nothing I could do to help. She might have come to the warmth of my home in other circumstances, but for now such a journey is impossible. Frustration and worry have become our constant companions.

Meanwhile my daughter and many friends are being urged to voluntarily leave their homes because of threats that levees protecting their homes will be ineffective. The water that is expected to come from rising rivers is higher than anyone ever dreamed they would be. The levees are strong but they may not be high enough. Now those along their paths must either take their chances or attempt to find someplace to go. Nobody has any good idea of where that might be or how they will get there. So they sit and wait, hoping that their fates will not be dire, knowing that the unthinkable has already happened all over the metropolitan area from the north to the south, the east to the west. Thousands of square miles larger than the state of Delaware are inundated, within those waters were the homes and the hopes and the dreams of wonderful people whose only possessions now are their lives.

Over four million souls are struggling today to understand our new reality. We watch the images and sob. Even our newscasters break down in tears. We are overwhelmed but determined. We are the face of America, and I hope that all of the world is watching for they will learn about courage and grace from us. Still, the reality is that our city and its many suburbs have been dealt a death blow. So much has been destroyed that it is difficult to process. Our recovery will take years, and during that time our stresses will increase.

Right now we are working together. Ordinary souls are saving lives. Generous people are bringing boats and supplies and hope from all over the country. We are committed. We want to live. We want to rebuild. Even those who once resided here are filled with desire to come back to help. My grandson who is a student at Purdue University in Indiana can’t seem to focus or concentrate on his classes. He wants to fly home to help in the efforts to reclaim our city. He has cried and wondered if the people around him can possibly understand the affection that he has for his Texas home. I have counseled him to stay in a place that is safe and to fulfill his dreams and those that we have for him. Nonetheless I understand how he is feeling, because my thoughts are the same as his. Nothing seems more important than standing shoulder to shoulder with my family, my friends, my neighbors, the strangers who live here. We are all one, and the road ahead will be so very hard. Each of us will have to play a role in setting things right.

For now I want to scream each time the winds increase and the rain falls to the street below. I want it to stop. I want it go away. I want my people, my Houstonians and folks from Katy, Sugarland, Pearland, Friendswood, Dickenson, Pasadena, Magnolia, Spring, Cypress, Clear Lake City, Texas City, Bellaire and all the other suburbs to finally feel a bit of peace. We can tackle the problems of rebuilding later. For now we just need a break, a feeling of hope, or we may experience a collective breakdown.

I can’t keep up with all of the events that are unfolding by the minute. I try to find out how those that I know are doing and just when I think that they are fine something changes. We do our best to keep up our spirits. We pray together. We provide encouragement. We express our sorrows. It gives us a bit of meaning in a situation that makes no sense at all. Not since Katrina and the devastation in New Orleans has there been such an horrific disaster in the United States. The scope of the tragedy is enormous. We desperately want to begin the work, but we need for the storm to go away…now!

Patience is at a premium, but we will need it in abundance, not just today but for many days to come. Faith and optimism must guide us, even when we teeter on the verge of losing hope. We must keep our energy and determination alive. Our love must be an example to all of America. Somehow at this very dark hour in my city when the skies have once again turned gray we must be the light. It is the only way.

Urban Exploration

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I vividly recall a Sunday afternoon of long ago when I was still a child, an innocent with longings for adventure. I was exploring the neighborhood by my grandmother’s house with a few of my cousins. We had ventured a couple of blocks farther away from the area where we usually confined our play, taking advantage of the daylight and the fact that our parents were busy visiting with Grandma and didn’t notice our absence. Our intended destination was to get as close as possible to the mountains of gravel and sand that stood like exotic behemoths on the grounds of Parker Brothers’. We were hoping that we might actually be able to climb on the manmade peaks if we were clever enough to find a way inside the fence that guarded the the mounds that beckoned us. Ours was childhood excitement on a grand scale, and we set forth on our expedition feeling rather courageous and a bit guilty that we were leaving without first consulting with our parents.

We had not gone far when we encountered an abandoned home sitting seemingly in the middle of an urban industrial zone. It was easily as eery as any haunted house that we had seen in horror movies with its peeling paint, broken windows and overgrown yard. We were fascinated by the structure and agreed almost without uttering a single word that we must learn more about the strange place. We carefully waded through the weeds and inspected the structure from all sides, moving along a three hundred sixty degree path near the foundation of the once noble building.

It was a two story house that surely had been a show piece in a neighborhood of tiny bungalows. Our grandmother’s place might have fit easily inside the cavernous space. We whispered our theories of who might have lived here and why they had decided to leave, but mostly we discussed whether or not we should dare to go inside. The open door beckoned us, but our knowledge of fairytales and the trouble that envelops children who are careless gave us momentary pause. Eventually our curiosity overcame our caution, and we crept quietly and slowly past the threshold and into the unknown void.

Birds flew freely inside the rooms through holes in the roof that allowed the sun to serve as lighting. Cobwebs decorated corners and dust served as carpet on the floors. The scene was at once serene and frightening. There was something oddly disturbing about the elegance of the architecture overgrown with neglect. We surveyed our find with a kind of reverence as though we had unearthed an archeological dig, noting the features of the rooms and using clues to determine who we thought might have lived there. Then we saw the staircase leading to the rooms above us and we were overcome with desire to venture into an area that we somehow understood was taboo.

Like Ulysses of old, the siren call of those stairs overwhelmed all of our common sense, and we began our dangerous trek up the wooden construction that wobbled under our feet as though it was ready to collapse from the weight of our bodies. It was a precarious path on rotted wood that snapped now and again beneath our feet, but we were determined to overcome our fears and reach our destination, and soon we were peering into a strange world that made our hearts beat so rapidly that we felt the pulse of anxiety in our throats. There before us stood evidence that the house was still very much in use. The trappings of civilization were all around.

A mattress lay on the floor with the imprint of the person who used it still visible. A dirty pillow lay at the ready for nighttime slumber. There were changes of raggedy clothing, packages of food items, a comb missing many of its teeth, and other artifacts of human civilization strewn on the floor. It startled us to see the humble possessions of some unknown occupant and we quietly wondered who might be the inhabitant of this strange world. For the first time we felt like trespassers, and determined that we must quickly leave lest the owner of the habitat return, but first one of the more daring among us decided to get a closer look at the scene. He stepped gingerly inside the room while we watched him from the safety of the stairs. As his confidence grew he almost danced as he reported on the things that he was viewing. He threw caution to the wind which was ultimately his fatal flaw, for without warning part of the floor beneath his feet collapsed, and he listed to the right as his leg disappeared into the hole. We rushed over to pull him from danger and with fear overcoming us ran screaming back down the stairs and directly out into the yard.

Our eyes were as big as saucers and we were hardly able to catch our breaths because we had suddenly come to our senses and realized that we had overstepped our bounds in invading the property. We were overwhelmed with a desire to get back to the safety of our grandmother’s house as quickly as possible, and without uttering a single word we also took an oath to keep the details of our transgression a secret that our parents would never know. We ran as if someone was in pursuit, and only laughed at ourselves when we were standing safely on Grandma’s porch.

We never returned to the old place again. Somehow we had quenched our curiosity about that house and never again discussed it. We eventually made it to the gravel mountains on another day and were chased away by a security guard who warned us of the dangers of our explorations. As we grew older we became more circumspect and shuddered at the risks we had taken as children. Still, the memories of our urban explorations would fuel a curiosity in me that never quite went away. I continue to be fascinated by abandoned locations whether they be houses or buildings or manufacturing sites. My imagination takes flight whenever I encounter the remains of mankind’s folly. Such places might be found just about anywhere, and while I am now far more respectful of the shrines than I was as a child I still long to get a closer look and to know the stories of what happened.

In my travels I stumble upon such ruins now and again. New Orleans is a particularly good city in which to view the remains of former dreams, and I rarely fail to drive past what was once a thriving amusement park that now stands empty as a kind of homage to the devastation of hurricane Katrina. In the heart of San Antonio there is an old Catholic school that is overrun with weeds, mold and graffiti. Near Jefferson, Texas is a steel mill that is rusting to the ground. There are so many locales that once held the hopes and dreams and laughter of people whose tales I would so like to hear. Now the structures are shells of their former glory, caverns of uselessness except as keepers of a silent history long past.

I recently learned that urban exploration is a kind of hobby for a number of people. There are photographers who specialize in revealing the beauty and artistry of forgotten structures. There is something quite lovely in catching just the right angle of the remains of another day. We humans are as fascinated with the anthropology of modern man as we are of the ancients. I am one of those who searches for such things with a fascination that began long ago on a lazy afternoon when my cousins and I were daring adventurers. My curiosity lingers to this day.

  

Our Town

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Where to begin? Normally writing comes so easily to me. My words usually flow like a river, but right now thoughts of real moving water, not words, are occupying my mind. My beloved Houston metropolitan area is under siege. The invader can’t be contained or rendered ineffective, for it is nature whose fury is inflicting painful wounds on the people and the places that I love. The after rains of hurricane Harvey have pounded neighborhood after neighborhood with an intensity that feels unrelenting. Innocent people minding their own business have had everything that they ever owned ripped away by waters that rise without mercy inside their homes. Those of us who have not yet been affected by the floods watch helplessly as our neighbors ride from their water logged homes in boats and on helicopters. Our levels of anxiety rise and fall as the rains start and then stop. We run back and forth to bathrooms and closets each time a tornado warning sounds. All we can do is wait and hope and pray, but the predictions are so dire. Surely we will be fine, or maybe we too will become members of the wet, confused and homeless crowd whose faces break our hearts.

I have lived in Houston, Texas or one of its suburbs for all of my sixty eight years. I have always been so proud to call myself a citizen of this wonderful place. The people here are quite special, friendly and helpful. I overlook the heat and mosquitoes and other irritations because there just isn’t a better place that I have ever found in which to raise a family or live a life. It’s a vibrant and diverse city that is just as comfortable at the opera as at the rodeo. We boast rocket scientists and refinery workers. Everyone regardless of background or ethnicity is a” good ole boy” or “gal.” We love to help those in need, and when New Orleans was devastated by hurricane Katrina we opened our hearts, our homes and our wallets to the people who had suddenly become homeless. It’s who we are. It’s what we do.

Now our own city is undergoing an historic flood unlike anything that any of us have ever seen. We have ordinary citizens hauling their fishing boats to areas where our people are trapped by the flood waters. Nobody asked them to stay awake all night long ferrying one group after another to safety. They just understood that this was something they had to do because they are Houstonians. We are the city that rolls up its sleeves and takes care of one another whether or not we get paid or receive praise. We are good kind people which is why we ignore the flatness of the land and the lack of enchanting landscapes. We find beauty in the ribbons of bayous that dot our neighborhoods. We love our gulf which is muddied by the silt from the Mississippi River. We make do with what we have and find the joy in even the ordinariness of life.

I am quite sad today. I see the gashing wound that runs from stem to stern on the place I call home. I worry and wonder when the sun will finally choose to return. I’ll gladly take the sizzling temperatures as long as the skies are blue and there is no longer a threat of deluge on my home and those of my family and friends and neighbors. I pray with every fiber of my being that we have already seen the worst and that the rains will somehow miraculously go away so that we might begin to rebuild the homes and the lives that have been so mistreated by Mother Nature.

I know not what the next couple of days will bring. I desperately want to believe that it will only get better. I am weary of rain and fear. I am ready to rally around my fellow citizens and make my city even more wonderful than before. I wish more than anything to be able to reposition my rose colored glasses, but the whispers of reality make me think thoughts that are not happy at all. I have to be prepared for more horrors. I have to be strong for whatever comes. Still I know that I will be okay mostly because I live in Houston. The people here will not let me down, not even when the night grows dark and new terrors tempt me to lose faith in this glorious city.

This is Houston, the place where I was born and have chosen to be. I don’t have any idea how we will bounce back from this, but I know we will. Until the storm has gone away and the skies clear once again I pray that God will be with us and hold us in the palm of His hand. He knows of our goodness. Surely He will provide.

Total Eclipse of the Sun

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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This happened for a few hours on August 21, 2017. Much of the United States of America was profoundly united by the majesty and mystery of a total eclipse of the sun. I wasn’t lucky enough to be in the path of totality, but the images of a 66% eclipse that I saw in the sky were breathtaking nonetheless. Somehow I was reminded of how infinite and mind-blowing our universe truly is, and how small we are when we consider its expanse. Still, the fact that we have unlocked so many secrets of the cosmos with our mathematics and science is humbling to realize. We were all ready to witness this historic event because astronomers have mastered the tools to make such predictions. We saw images streamed from NASA and wore glasses that allowed us to look heavenward without doing damage to our retinas. Later we shared our experiences with people in distant places using technology that is as amazing as nature itself. Somehow this incredible moment left me in awe of not only the heavens, but also the intellect of mankind.

One of my favorite all time books is The Ascent of Man by Abraham Bronowski. It is a chronicle of the leaps of human knowledge that have brought us to the advances that we often take for granted today. The miracles of farming, construction, astronomy, physics medicine and technology that we enjoy are abundant, and provide us with a standard of living unimagined even two generations ago. Nonetheless we must be careful of relying on our hubris. Just as gazing at the sun during an eclipse without protective eyewear may cause us to go blind, so too will thinking that we unequivocally have all of the answers cause our downfall. We would do well to consider that our place in the universe is but a tiny speck. There is so much that we have yet to learn, but happily there are minds of geniuses working to continue to expand our knowledge just as they always have. I marvel at the thought of what is yet to come.

I sometimes like to consider what developments I would like to see. It would be so wonderful to be able to eliminate mental illnesses, or at least control them effectively. How nice would it be to have an injection or a pill to eliminate addictions to drugs, alcohol or food? I dream of a time when we are able to produce forms of energy that do no harm to our environment and are readily available to anyone anywhere. I’d love to see advances in food production that would eliminate hunger in all corners of the world. The possibilities are endless, and often the most humble sounding discoveries are the ones that have the greatest impact on society.

We still have so much to do with regard to bringing peace and synergy to our world. I often feel that the best possible human advances may one day come in the way we live together in harmony. We still have so much work to do in that arena, but if we can come together to watch the moon blot out the sun, then maybe the potential for humanity to ascend to a higher level of integration is truly there. I’d like to believe that this is not just an idealistic pipe dream.

At the moment in which the eclipse in my town reached its apogee I felt a kinship with the universe and its people. After all it seemed as though we are all more alike than we are different. I viewed the event in a park surrounded by hundreds of fellow amateur astronomers. Everyone on that day in that place was smiling. Somehow there was no room for jealousies or comparisons of one another. There was a definite feeling of unity and a spirit of cooperation. Everyone cheered the passing of the moon in front of the sun and declared that it was a remarkable sight that they will never forget.

We all agreed that we can’t wait for the next big event that will take place in the USA in 2024. That time the totality will happen right in my home state, and I plan to watch it with my children and grandchildren, By then they will be either in college or all grown up  with jobs and maybe even families of their own. The sun will have risen in the east, the moon will have illuminated the nighttime sky and the earth will have rotated on its axis for over two thousand days. So many changes will have taken place, but our fascination with the sun and the moon and the stars will not have waned. Somehow those celestial bodies still rule over our hearts and our minds. We are as fascinated by them as primitive man was. In their presence we realize both our potential and our limitations. We long to totally understand them and we marvel at their power, or at least we should.

Our planet is but one infinitesimal part of a universe so vast that we cannot truly imagine it. We measure our history with the rising and falling of the sun.

Everything

Turns,

Rotates,

Spins,

Circles,

Loops,

Resonates,

And

Repeats.

Circles

Of life,

Born from

Pulses

Of light,

Vibrate

To

Breathe,

While

Spiraling

Outwards

For Infinity

Through

The lens

Of time,

And into

A sea

Of stars

and Lucid

Dreams.

—- A poem from Suzy Kassem

What Did You Do This Summer?

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

summer-vacation

“What did you did this summer?” It’s a question that will no doubt be repeated many times in the coming weeks as schools open and students return to classrooms once again. I’ve answered that query countless times, but only once has my answer held as much transformative impact as it does for this particular summer.

The last time that I felt as changed by events was when I entered the fourth grade after my father died. I wasn’t doing very well then. I was still quite afraid of what the future might hold for my family.. Everything was so uncertain and my faith that all would eventually get better was severely shaken. Our family would prove to be up to the task of moving forward with only one parent, and I would learn how truly strong we actually were, but it would take a great deal of time for me to realize that. This year’s ringing of the school bells marks another moment when I have been severely tested, but this time I have enough confidence and wisdom from experience to understand not only that I will be alright, but also that I have found a newfound contentment that comes from the certainty of knowing what is most important.

I am the first to admit that I am a planner and control freak. I’ve already placed appointments on my calendar for December. I like to have routines and keep things flowing smoothly. Deciding how I was going to spend my summer was no exception. I wanted to take my grandson to New Orleans in June because he had never been there. Our trip was indeed quite successful, but it was only the beginning of all the wondrous things that I was prepared to do, including experiencing a grand adventure traveling to Cancun and attending the wedding of a very dear friend. That particular journey was so incredibly exciting and made even better by the pleasant emotions that I shared with others who attended the ceremony who also happen to be quite important to me. I returned from my trip filled with joy and so many stories. After such a remarkable excursion I might have been content to spend the rest of my summer at home, but I had planned for so much more to come.

After spending the Fourth of July holiday with all of my children and grandchildren I was slated to relax for a week in a lovely Texas state park with friends Monica and Franz. Then I was traveling to Colorado to meet up with my brother and his family so that we might drive together to Wyoming to observe the total eclipse of the sun. I already had purchased the special glasses that I would need for the viewing, and I was beyond excited about that once in a lifetime event. I had no idea just how radically everything that I had scheduled would change, but it all did.

On July 3, my husband had a stroke as many of you who regularly read my blog already know. The thing is that as soon as I saw him lying on the floor unable to get up, with his mouth and eye drooping, nothing else mattered to me but the fact that he was still alive. If I had been required to give up every single material item that I own to keep him with me, I would surely have agreed to do so. As it was his symptoms disappeared within minutes and he is doing well these days even though he is not yet out of the woods. We’ve been mostly tied down to the house and our days have been rather quiet and uneventful. Because there is an increased chance that he will have another stroke within the first ninety days after the one that occurred in July we have cancelled all of our out of town plans, and it doesn’t bother me at all.

What I did this summer is change. I don’t want anything other than to enjoy the moment that I happen to be experiencing. I am finding happiness in the most ordinary activities, and I am so filled with love that my heart is fairly bursting. I have had the time to take stock of my blessings and they are many. I feel like a newlywed with my husband. After almost forty nine years of marriage I admit that I had been taking him for granted, but now I treasure every second that we are together. I like to hear the sound of his voice, and things that sometimes irritated me before now seem quite adorable.

I have also learned to appreciate the challenges and struggles that my friends endure. I find myself thinking about the shut-ins and the widows, those fighting illnesses and those who are afraid and uncertain. I am no longer as ignorant of their feelings, nor as cavalier about how brave they are. I have a new found respect for those who are wounded are marginalized. I have realized in a very spiritual way that nothing on the face of this earth is ever more important that its people.

I have enjoyed my interactions with friends and family as never before, and in the process I have remembered and appreciated those who helped me to become who I am today. I have had many thoughts of my departed mother and mother-in-law, and my only regret is that I never truly thanked them enough for the love that they showered on me. Now I understand how important it is to let people know exactly how much I care about them, not tomorrow but today.

I am like a whole new person, and it feels so very good to be me. I have found a contentment that is peaceful and fulfilling. I know that God is with me and that I have never been alone nor ever will be. I may be tested again, and my worst fears may come to pass, but I will be okay. This is what I learned this summer, and what a glorious time I have had reaching this destination!