For the first time since 2008, I decided to evacuate for a storm.
My husband and older daughter stayed home to hold down the fort, but I drove to Baton Rouge and picked up Piper, our 18-year-old daughter. Driving on Interstate 10 in the evacuation traffic was exhausting. Once I picked up Piper, we decided to take back roads en route to my parents’ home in the middle of Mississippi.
Being together driving down treelined country roads, headed toward home, was like exhaling after holding my breath.
Once we arrived at my parents’, I immediately wanted to take a nap. Something about coming to their house always makes me sleepy. I’m not sure what that’s about — maybe something about being able to relax to a level that I don’t feel often? I’m not sure, but it’s real. Even so, I resisted the temptation to snooze.
The rhythm of life in their log-cabin home seemed almost back to normal — something no one has had much of this year. Since my dad’s multiple myeloma diagnosis in February, life for my parents has been full of new hardships, first with the diagnosis, then the treatment. Quarantine created a lonely existence for them. However, after five months of weekly chemotherapy, my dad has had three months to build some strength back. He moves slowly and carefully, but is now facing life with vigor again.
It is October. So, my dad is in his rightful place — his favorite chair, watching multiple baseball games with the television blaring. He’s constantly yelling, “Get ’im out,” louder than the already loud television.
After months of caring for my dad, my mother is also regaining her delightful demeanor, constantly in service to others and laughing on the ready.
Piper and I pulled in their driveway just as they were just getting out of my dad’s truck. They had returned from picking up 10 plates of fried fish, bought at a fundraiser for a friend’s nephew who has cancer. They then drove around town, dropping off the extra plates to various friends before heading home. My mom then warmed up the fried fish in her new toaster oven. They tell me it is excellent, but, sadly, the hush puppies not so much.
Piper and my dad went out to deliver the last two plates of fried fish to neighbors — and check on the chickens and pick up eggs. Mom and I sat at the table nibbling on a grape salad that she seems to have in her refrigerator perpetually. (She makes it with cream cheese and pecans — and it is delicious). She and I chatted, trying to figure out how to word a note to get the garbage men (who will be here in the morning) to pick up four old garbage cans. We settled on, “Garbage cans are trash. Please take them.” Hurricane Delta is already bringing showers this way, so Mom decided to wait until the morning to tape the notes onto the old garbage cans. She doesn’t want the black marker to run on the index card, making them difficult to read. (The jury is still out on if the notes will work.)
The four of us then spent at least 15 minutes talking about how we will eat the biscuits Mom is planning to make in the morning. Piper is going with pear preserves. My dad says he’s going with peach preserves. Mom wants molasses. I’m sticking with Blackburn’s Syrup.
With my father’s running analysis of the baseball game ongoing, Piper, Mom and I settled in to play Gin Rummy. As is his nature, occasionally he insisted that we leave our game to come see certain players. Tonight, it was a young man from Crystal Springs who went to high school with my nephew and, later, another player from LSU. Everyone within a football field’s distance of my parents’ living room could hear his commentary. Until, it stopped. Then, we heard him snoring. I’m not certain how often he watches a game through these days, but while he’s watching he wants it to be as important to everyone within his circle of influence as it is to him.
Round after round of Gin Rummy, and Mom eventually won. Then we all headed to bed. The rain is falling a pitter-patter on the tin roof as I tuck in for the night.
Evacuating for a hurricane is never a good thing, but in a year of so much tumult and trouble, I will be grateful for this gentle evening for a long time to come.
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October 10, 2020 at 11:24PM
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You can go home again: Finding calm away from the storm - The Advocate
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