Category: Natural Disasters

We Are Real!

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Back in the days before computers and the Internet were as commonplace as they are now, I used to provide my students with instructions regarding the safe use of the then fairly new medium. I reminded them that not all sources are reliable or even true, and that they should check the veracity of statements before believing them. We tend to take the wide world web a bit more for granted that we did when we were still in awe of the information highway, and because of that we have become easier prey to charlatans who would fool us with stories and even photographs that are manufactured. We have also become victims of a constant barrage of opinions that may or may not be based on fact. In spite of my own warnings to beware, I sometimes fall for the shenanigans of imposters myself.

The recent tragedy wrought by hurricane Harvey has created a minefield of outright fabrications, and among them was a fake tweet that supposedly came from President Trump in which he displayed a cavalier attitude toward the victims of the storm. Someone with a creative mind had spliced together ideas from actual Trump tweets to make it appear that our Commander in Chief was almost giddy about the prospect of seeing such an historic tragedy and even more excited about a rally in Maryland afterward. I was incensed upon reading it and posted it on my Facebook wall with a snarky comment. When a couple of my friends insisted that the tweet was not from Trump I did the research that I should have already completed and learned that it was indeed a counterfeit. I deleted the post sheepishly knowing that I had already done damage.

There are far too many folks writing today who tell us what their followers want to hear without taking time to gather the facts before setting their words on paper. The current sport for some is to rain down their wrath on my city of Houston which is suffering mightily. They have written columns that range from insisting that our courage and kindness in this dark hour is a fleeting anomaly to the even more horrendous idea that karma has finally punished us for our political sins. I truly can’t imagine how anyone would think it appropriate to be so cruel, but I am coming to realize that fanaticism of any sort knows no bounds.

Because I was born and raised in Houston, Texas I think I know it as well as anyone. I’ve spent very close to sixty nine years watching it grow and change. I remember seeing the headline announcing that the population had risen to one million. Now there are over six and a half million souls in the metropolitan area. There was a time when the now booming suburbs that extend miles away from the center of town were sleepy farm villages. In the decades during which I followed my life dreams, raised a family and retired to a slower paced lifestyle I have witnessed remarkable changes. Among them is the amazing diversity of our population. We have welcomed people from all over the world. We work and play with them and hardly notice our differences, if anything we celebrate them. We have traveled a long way from being a sleepy segregated town.

My cul-de-sac in the suburb of Pearland which is part of the big metroplex is the perfect example of how culturally mature we have become. We have whites, blacks, Hispanics and Asians all living happily together and watching out for one another. Our neighborhood was quite fortunate not to have any damage during the storm, but we still gathered during the small breaks in rain to be certain that everyone was doing well and to see if anyone needed anything. The little girls next door made cookies for everyone. The man across the street texted important news. We are a family in every sense of the word.

Most people do not understand the enormity of the Houston metropolitan area. It is literally the size of some states. It encompasses at least five counties and a host of smaller towns that are far too many to list. Suggesting for example that the floods were caused by a lack of zoning by the Houston city government is a bit ridiculous because the vast majority of the flooded areas lie within the jurisdiction of other municipalities, all of which think of themselves as being independent but also satellites of the big city of Houston. Most of us live in areas that are a short drive to downtown Houston but which have nothing to do with the government of the city. I, for example, live in Pearland which lies about thirty minutes south of downtown Houston. I am in Brazoria County rather than Harris County, but my area was still heavily featured in television coverage because everyone in the metropolitan region understands that we are an integral part of the bigger picture. Still, we do our own thing here as fare as government, and thus it is in the many places that ring the actual Houston city limits.

The most hateful comments about Houston have alluded to our politics. The irony is that even the satirists at “Charlie Hebdo” created a cover that was shocking both for its outright cruelty and its total lack of factual evidence. The cartoon featured drowning bodies and floating Nazi flags with the headline, “God Exists. He drowned all the neo-Nazis of Texas.” While I’m as willing as anyone to enjoy satire, I’d like to explain to whomever created this cartoon the reality of the situation. The facts may shock them.

There are most certainly a few white supremacists and Nazis in the Houston area. We have people of every other stripe, so it stands to reason that we also have some bigots, but these fringe groups do not in any way represent the vast majority. Houston has a black mayor, an Hispanic police chief and an Hispanic fire chief. It is a city that leans left and votes democrat. In the last presidential election it went overwhelmingly for Hillary Clinton. Admittedly some of the suburban areas are more Republican, but again we are talking about a diversity of philosophies and cultures that are not easily described by generalities. I think of a photo of my eldest grandson in kindergarten that explains the true nature of the Houston area better than satire. He and his buddies are arm in arm with huge grins on their faces. Among them is a boy from Pakistan, a Black, a Chinese, and my little white grandchild. That crew of young men has grown up together in this place that is so misunderstood and thought to be a haven for racial animus. As they attend college and turn twenty one years of age they are still as strongly bonded with one another as they were back when they were five or six years old.

As for questions of whether or not we Houstonians are really courageous and generous in spirit or if our good actions are only a passing phenomenon, my only comment regarding that is that the impression that is playing out on the screen for all the world to see is one hundred percent real. If you don’t believe it, just come live here for a time. You will fall in love with this city and its people. Our kindness is not a fleeting thing. It is our way of life. We are exactly what we appear to be, a loving and giving group of people. Houston is strong and compassionate not just in its darkest days but 24/7, 365 days a year. We are the real deal! That is a fact!

We’re Going To Make It After All

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I’m slowly remembering how to sleep again. I had just begun to totally relax after my husband’s stroke when the big Houston flood came along. I don’t think that I have dozed for more than five or six hours for at least a week. Getting back to normal is going to be difficult. We have all changed just a bit, but thankfully I believe that it is for the better.

Yesterday I went on errands for the first time since last Friday. Everyone was so nice and cheerful you would have thought that it was Christmas time. Employees welcomed us to the stores with big smiles and hearty greetings. Strangers were asking each other how they had done in the storm. It was almost like living in a tiny town rather than the fourth largest city in the United States. Most of the people were purchasing items to donate to those who had been affected by the flooding. They had their carts piled high with personal care items, food, cleaning products, water and school supplies. I had a difficult time finding pencils because we all had the same thought that we needed to replace the items that kids will need when schools open once again.

The day was absolutely gorgeous and so we ventured across town to visit with my father-in-law who had been on pins and needles with concern for all of his family. He was surprised and delighted to see us, and we had fun exchanging war stories for a couple of hours. He had done quite well even though the rain had been furious. He lives in what is no doubt the highest neighborhood in the city, so if he had flooded it would have been Armageddon. Still he spoke of a couple of moments when the water in his street was raging like a river, something that he had never before seen. Luckily there were enough breaks in the deluge to allow the rain to drain in between the downpours. Ultimately his home was never threatened.

Our conversations were accompanied by the sound of helicopters flying overhead, an experience that has become sadly commonplace. We’ve seen Blackhawks and Chinooks and every possible variety for several days now. For the most part we ignored the implications of what those choppers meant even though in the back of our minds we prayed for the souls who were onboard. We joked that we each want one along with a landing pad on the roof for Christmas, or at least a flat bottom boat with a set of life jackets. It’s crazy how humor helped us to relax.

Our homeward route took us through the heart of downtown Houston which seemed almost like a ghost town or a set for The Walking Dead. Now and again we saw crews pumping water from underground parking garages, and there were a few hearty souls walking along the mostly deserted streets. I saw a homeless people here and there sunning themselves and wondered what they had done during the storm. I marvel at how resilient they are and don’t think that I would fare nearly as well. I hope that they are not overlooked when relief is being provided for the citizens.

The official word yesterday was that Houston ISD students will not begin school until September 11, a somewhat meaningful date for all of us. It is not certain what other districts will decide to do, but it is clear that both teachers and students will need to ease into the process. Everyone is rattled whether they had damage to their homes or not. It will take some time for a sense of security and normalcy to return. I also believe that school districts will have to think out of the box to fulfill their needs. I’d like to see them hire more counselors and keep classes smaller perhaps by using retired teachers to work a couple of hours a day to ease some of the burdens. Maybe they even need to consider getting waivers to have shorter school days, at least during the first semester when everyone is still so stressed.

Everyone who does not have to repair his/her home wants so desperately to volunteer to help someone else. Offers of aid are flooding into the city. It is nice to realize that we humans are still quite nice in spite of recent indications to the contrary. We have been fed a steady diet of stories of terrorists, white supremacists, and hatefulness between opposing viewpoints for too long of late. It’s nice to hear of people intent on being kind and generous rather than fighting with one another. I sure wish that the attitudes that are apparent all around in Houston right now would infect the rest of the country like a virus. We desperately need to come together with a unified goal. The invective that has become so commonplace needs to go the way of Harvey.

I don’t want to rush things, but it feels as though Houstonians will eventually come out of this disaster even stronger than we presently are, as long as armchair quarterbacks don’t over analyze what has happened here. Just as teenagers don’t like nagging from their parents, we citizens of Houston are rather frayed and really don’t need critiques. We’ve done our best and prefer that people just leave it at that. Later we might analyze levees and drainage systems and routes for evacuations with an eye to improving them. For now we just need to survive.

I love that so many things are settling down in ways that might seem insignificant to some, but are major to me. I saw RVs returning home from wherever they had taken refuge. It was good to see people with enough confidence to come back again. A neighbor mowed his lawn yesterday, a rather mundane act but one that made me smile from ear to ear. We have to do all of these little things to feel good again. Bit by bit, step by step I think we are going to make it, and hopefully we will have learned much to guide us in the future. 

Truly Madly Deeply

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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One of the most fascinating books that I have ever read is Isaac’s Storm by Eric Larson, a story that details the horrific events of the 1900 hurricane that virtually decimated Galveston, Texas. I have always found the randomness of the destruction that took place in that epic event to be rather profound. With no rhyme or reason some structures were totally destroyed while others that stood right next to them exist even to this very day. Thus it seems to be when nature’s fury strikes. The fact that I still have my home in the midst of all of the misery caused by Hurricane Harvey is little more than the luck of the draw because not more than a mile away there are homes that filled with water.

In the aftermath of a storm that will surely go down in history as one for the ages, I am pensive as I listen to the sounds of life slowly coming back into the world that has been my home since my birth. This time of year the school buses should be stopping at my corner to take children to and fro. I enjoy the  laughter and the excitement of the voices that filter through my window each morning and afternoon. For now there is only the wind blowing through my trees and the hum of a generator in the distance. It’s good to hear the rumble of cars moving down the road, and now again there is a siren breaking the silence with a scream. I worry what might be happening to someone, but I also smile that it is once again possible for aid to reach whomever is in need without moving precariously through a wall of water. Even as the natural routine of things has been set askew, there is the tiniest whisper of hope assuring me that in spite of the enormity of the challenges that lie ahead, we will eventually heal and recover.

I rejoice at the messages of good news coming from friends and family about whom I had worried during the deluges that fell over my city. So many, like me, seem to have weathered the storm relatively unscathed. Given the extent of the damage to Houston it is almost impossible to believe that we indeed have a foundation of intact homes from which we might reach out to the others who were not as fortunate. As I number the dozens who will soon be assessing the damage to their houses and possessions I am truly humbled. But for chance it might just as easily been among them.

I have expressed my love for my city so many times. She is a tough girl with a heart of pure gold. She is hurting now and I know we must all show her our love by being very good to one another. She would expect nothing less from us. In the past few days we have demonstrated just how good we are at doing that. There have been so many favors performed both large and small, all designed to ease the fear and the pain that our neighbors are experiencing. We are not strangers in Houston. We are family. We understand that now more than ever.

The heat here can be brutal and the landscape is as flat as a pancake, but the real beauty of this place has always been in its people. It has historically been a town where souls come to find new opportunities just as my grandfather did when he traveled from Austria Hungary more than a hundred years ago or like my husband’s great grandfather who arrived from Georgia penniless. Houston has always been filled with promises from which individuals with little more than the clothes on their backs might find the kind of lives that would not be possible anywhere else. It is a warm hearted and forgiving place as was so dramatically demonstrated in countless ways during the last few days.

We have watched our hometown newscasters dissolve into tears as they reported the human stories that have been so difficult to hear. We have seen ordinary people brave the waters with boats and trucks so that people they have never met might be saved from the raging waters. Our mayor has stood toe to toe with all of us to keep us safe and to calm our fears. Our neighbors have walked hand in hand never even noticing any of the diverse demographics that seem to be so dividing the rest of our country. We have jumped into the task of saving ourselves and saving our city without worrying about what anyone else might eventually do for us. We understand that there is no time to wait for outside help. We are Houstonians. We take care of our own. Still we are gracious and thankful for the help that is offered because we understand that this task will surely be more than we might handle alone.

I feel a sense of pride when my grandchildren and former students check on my welfare and weather the storm to bring me items that I needed to be comfortable during the long wait for the rains to end. I smile as I see them taking charge in the aftermath by immediately volunteering at shelters and gathering truckloads of donations and supplies. How wonderful they have turned out to be. I hear that little whisper that tells me we will survive when I see how considerate and generous they are. They are the face of the future of Houston. They assure me that tomorrow will be sunny and bright.

I can’t wait to hear the incessant singing of the cicadas at night. I don’t think I will mind at all when the sun is so bright that sweat rolls down my neck. i want to see the Friday night lights of high school football and watch my grandson march with his band. I long to cheer for the Texans, and Astros and Rockets and Houston Cougars once again. I want to laugh at the antics of the Rice MOB. I long for the time when I might drive on water free roads to the Farmer’s Market on Airline or to the shops in Highland Village on Westheimer. I want to have dinner at Gringo’s or Niko Niko’s and stand in line for barbecue at Killen’s. I dream of walking the aisles of HEB and munching on a burger from Whatburger or a donut from Shipley’s. I look forward to the Nutcracker Market and Thanksgiving at my brother’s house. I can’t wait to see the Christmas lights in December and the azaleas in March. I pray with all of my heart that together we Houstonians will have the means to keep our traditions alive, because they will be more important than ever as we work our way out of the pain and the loss that is all around us. 

We are not completely out of danger just yet. As the rivers rise there may be more flooding in places that have done fairly well up to now. More heartache may ensue. More need will arise. We will be tested as a city again and again. Our marathon will be long and difficult, but I know that we have the grit that we need to see the process through.

I have cried and cried for my beautiful often misunderstood city and its people. The tragedy of it all has sometimes been almost too much to bear, but I know in my heart that we live in one of the most special places on earth. I have understood this for all of my life. I am truly, madly, deeply in love with Houston, Texas and I promise not to let her down in her hour of need

Of Swamps and Other Watery Delights

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

ultimate-swamp-adventuresWe crowded together under the canopy of a flat bottom boat along with visitors from all over the world. It seemed a strange thing to be able to do in the middle of a bustling suburb of New Orleans just minutes away from the French Quarter. Under the shadow of concrete levees and three huge pumps we slowly drifted into a swamp filled with delights from Mother Nature hidden from the raucous tourists who flock to this strange below sea level area.

Cypress trees shaded the water and provided perches for the egrets who lounged on the protruding knees. Imported lilies triumphantly grew in spite of human efforts to rid the area of the plants intent on choking out all other forms of life. Maples and other trees lined and shaded our passage way as we drew farther and farther away from the signs of civilization. The only sounds were that of the motor on our boat and the occasional squawking of the feathered population. It was a strangely heavenly place in spite of the alligators lurking under the surface.

Occasionally one of the sharp toothed critters surfaced in hopes of garnering attention and a marshmallow from our guide. They came in all sizes and personalities. Some seemed to smile at us and others growled to chase us away. Now and again the our calm was intruded upon by other groups riding in obnoxiously loud airboats complete with guests shouting and cheering in what seemed inappropriate behavior for the almost sacred feel of the swampy environ. I was always relieved that they sped away quickly, vanishing into the undergrowth of one of the tributaries.

It was a cloudy day which somehow made our journey more spectacular. Without warning the sky opened up and a heavy downpour beat out a cadence on the roof of our conveyance. The spray soaked our shoes and spattered on our legs. A group from California jokingly asked what the precipitation might be, feigning an ignorance born from months of drought in their home state. As the laughter receded the questions centered on what hurricane Katrina had done to the watery preserve on which we floated. Our guide explained that it had been saved from any damage other than that from the power of the winds that blew through the trees.

On what should have been a hot and humid day we were cooled by a steady breeze and the continuous falling of raindrops. Somehow it seemed to be perfect weather for our exploration. Thankfully ours was a rather quiet and respectful group of humans who displayed our awe for the glorious sights we were seeing with silent reflection.

All too soon our tour was over and we were disembarking with a far better sense of our own places in the grand scheme of things. Our guide had helped us to understand that we are in many ways only visitors on our planet and as such we have a responsibility to leave it as pristine as we possibly can.

Next to the business offering the swamp adventure we had just taken was an open air fresh seafood market. In stalls lining a huge parking lot there were bins filled with shrimp and crabs just delivered from the boats we had seen in the harbor. We were taken by the friendliness of the vendors and their knowledge of how to cook and preserve the lovely gifts from the sea. We purchased five pounds of exquisite shrimp from a woman named Jerri whose Cajun accent delighted us as much as her warm and open personality.

One of Jerri’s customers was a man who had lost most of what he had owned in Katrina. His wife and children had moved to Houston and never returned. He still lived and worked in New Orleans and commuted back and forth on weekends between the two cities. He was unceremoniously proud that his daughter had just graduated from high school with honors and had received a full scholarship for college. In between guiding us in the selection of the best shrimp and explaining how to use it, he boasted that his girl wanted to be a doctor and had the smarts to achieve her goal.

That night we boiled some of the shrimp and froze the rest in the manner prescribed by the helpful folks at the market. There was something so special about sitting in our trailer munching on the lovely pink seafood while reliving the day’s remarkable events with our grandson Ian. I can’t say that I have ever in my life tasted better shrimp but I wonder if the gloriousness of our experiences had somehow colored my impressions.

I’ve got more of the shrimp that we purchased just waiting inside my freezer for a planned celebration with my family later this week. I’m certain that as we enjoy it I will think back on that lovely day in the swamp when I somehow felt an unlikely kinship with the beauty and the glory of a place so unfit for human habitation that it had managed to survive even as people carved up the surrounding land, sometimes damaging it with their hubris. It was a hidden world where things were as they should be, and it felt just right. The seafood market also spoke of a different kind of era when vendors gathered in a public place to hawk their wares in a friendly and intimate kind of business agreement. There was time to talk and get to know one another while making deals that made everyone feel good. Somehow we had stumbled onto a perfect day that we will undoubtedly never forget.

Keep On Trucking

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Burning-HouseOn Good Friday I was preparing food for our family’s Easter celebration when a heavy cloud of dark smoke suddenly poured from my oven. As I ran across the room to turn down the heat a small flame erupted in the bottom corner of the appliance. I called for my husband to come help with the situation and just as he raced down the stairs an inferno engulfed the entire cavity. We reached for the fire extinguisher that we store in our pantry but when we attempted to open the oven to apply the fire retardant it was latched shut. Our only option was to yank the appliance out of the wall just enough to create a small crack that allowed us to spray away. Luckily our efforts worked and the blaze was soon out leaving behind a rather nasty mess and an oven that was undoubtedly ready for the scarp heap.

In the same week my daughter was happily driving her new car when she approached a red light. Of course she halted as required but sadly the youngster behind her was so busy texting that he didn’t notice that the traffic was at a standstill. He plowed into the back of her auto with full force. Her beautiful car was a shambles of its former self.

Meanwhile across town a friend went to bed admiring the wood flooring that had just been placed in his home. He was proud of the dramatic and lovely change it had made in his abode. When he arose the following morning expecting to see the gleaming planks he was instead greeted to a most disastrous sight. Water covered the area that had looked so wonderful only hours before, ruined by the overflow from a toilet that had run all through the night.

Each of these incidents were maddeningly inconvenient and costly. It would take days, even weeks to repair the damage that was so unexpected, but eventually all would be set right once again. All three of us were fortunate to have the ability to overcome our disasters, unlike so many whose lives spin frighteningly out of control. While these examples were fixable they demonstrate the importance of keeping the events that occur in our lives in perspective.

My house didn’t burn down as it might have. My daughter walked away from her accident unscathed. My friend’s home was not flooded so badly that it was rendered uninhabitable. Sadly I know people who have faced far worse.

One of my aunts who was in her nineties at the time watched helplessly as her home burned to the ground, eliminating everything that she owned including irreplaceable family heirlooms and treasures. I have known several people whose loved ones have died in car accidents, including myself. I have friends who used to live in New Orleans who came home to total devastation after hurricane Katrina. Such losses are indescribable. They haunt the psyche for years and leave scars that tend to quietly inflict pain. 

We all want to think that we have a modicum of control over our lives but reality demonstrates time and again that the possibility of the unexpected happening is always there. At any given moment our lives might be thrown into utter chaos. We don’t dwell on such facts because we would be immobilized with fear if we did. Instead we go about our daily lives sometimes sweating a bit too much about the small stuff instead of focusing on our blessings. We take the food on our tables for granted. We forget to tell our family members and friends how much we love them. We grumble and complain.

Of course my husband and I were upset over the prospect of having to purchase a new oven and repair the damage to our cabinetry. We certainly might have used the money in other ways, but once the smoke had settled so to speak we began to realize how fortunate we were. Had we both been in another room our kitchen might have been far more damaged, perhaps even destroyed. In another time in our lives we might not have had the money to purchase a new oven and would have had to scramble to find a way to fix the problem. As it was, we had just received a tax refund that essentially covered the costs.

My mother lived on the economic edge for most of her life but she nonetheless always remained optimistic. She used to brag that God loved her so that He somehow took care of every problem that arose for her. Such was her faith that she told us when we were children that she had a money tree from which she would pluck funds when they were needed. She herself lived without an oven for several years because hers had quit functioning and she did not have the funds to get a new one. Rather than complaining she made do until she had accumulated enough to get a new one. She joked that by the time she finally had a way to bake again she realized that she really didn’t need to roast or broil. She didn’t allow herself to worry over things that were in reality inconsequential.

The truth is that there are people on this earth who will never have an oven or a car or a wooden floor. They live in places racked by famine, disease and war. Their lives are so out of their own control that they only have the freedom to exist, and sometimes even that liberty is taken from them. We on the other hand enjoy luxuries that we take for granted, worrying over problems that in reality don’t matter as much as we may think.

I am an admitted control freak even though I have learned time and again that so much of what happens is beyond my reach. The only thing over which I have total power is my own attitude. I can choose to stew over the randomness of occurrences or I can choose to roll with the punches and take the actions needed to set myself aright. There is little point in crying once the milk is flowing across the floor.

I take heart from the courage of the incredible people that I know such as the mother whose six month old son was diagnosed with leukemia who kept a smile on her face throughout her years long ordeal. I think of the friend whose daughter was killed by a drunk driver. She has channeled her grief into counseling others and spreading healing by sharing her own story. I marvel at the woman who had to reinvent herself after hurricane Katrina at a time in life when she should have been retiring comfortably. I am daily inspired by a former student whose brother was murdered and her fight to bring justice for him and all individuals marred by violence. I think of a dear friend who daily cares for a husband sidelined by a severe stroke and dementia. All of these individuals have risen from the ashes of their circumstances in triumph. They have found new meaning for their lives and new appreciation for even the smallest of blessings just as my mother always did.

I know not what challenges will come my way. None of us ever do. My only hope is that I will find the inner strength and positive attitude that will allow me to keep my footing and keep on trucking along. It is after all the best that we might do regardless of the circumstances.