There's been lotsa flooding in our neck of the woods over the past few days. If you listen to our astute weathermen and women, they'll tell you the flooding was caused by lotsa rain and the lotsa rain was caused by lotsa storms. Lotsa folks 'round here supported their theory that lotsa rain caused lotsa flooding and all this was caused by lotsa storms.
The news men and women have even interviewed these folks on TV. Yesterday evening they interviewed one man whose home had been severely damaged by the lotsa rain, flooding, and storms. In fact, a tree had fallen on one part of his home. The man said, "Ya see this," The camera man showed picture of a smashed window with smashed blinds a'blowin in the wind.) "Well," continues the interviewee, "that's my grandma's bedroom," the man's voice kinda choked up. "If she'd been in her bed sleeping... well, it woulda killed her." Almost sobs come through the mike. "Yep, it woulda killed her... but she died about eight months ago."
Jan and I almost busted a gut at that. "Yea, she'd been killed if she weren't dead." What an interview.
All this rain, flooding, and storms reminded me of the same sort of weather that came through Wichita Falls, Texas many, many years ago. I was driving a car full of fully habited nuns from Abilene to Wichita Falls for some sort of meeting. We'd been driving through this weather for hours, but were almost at our destination.
I came up to a creek with a low water bridge. There was water running over it, but it didn't seem that deep. We all put our veiled heads together, conferred, and made the decision to cross over.
As I got closer, I saw a sign but could not read what it said: the sign's lights were out. And it was dark, very dark. I slowly, ever so slowly, drove carefully, ever so carefully, over the bridge.
We could feel the water running very swiftly under the car. My heart began beating so hard I was sure, if I looked down, I would see it hanging out of my chest. It seemed to take forever, but we made it safely over.
As we drove up onto the street and continued on our way, I looked in the rear view mirror and noticed a brightly lit sign positioned right before the low water bridge. "Hmm," I thought, trying to read the two backward words. It took a few seconds, but the words suddenly became crystal clear. The words on the sign said: BRIDGE CLOSED.
The BRIDGE CLOSED sign was O-U-T on the other side. We'd crossed a c-l-o-s-e-d bridge. Evidently, if you have four or more nuns together in a car, the car can drive on water. Ya know, like levitate across.
I informed my holy passengers. After a brief pause there was a sudden, very loud burst of Catholic ejaculations*: "Holy Jesus", " Thank-You-Jesus", " Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph", "Oh, St Jude Saved Us", and on and on. These ejaculations were accompanied by the both-hands-raised-over-the-head gesture, which any Catholic in good standing, much less a nun, would never do in public.
Miss Althea, have a good day.
*"Ejaculation" is the official Catholic word for short bursts of prayer. Really.