Mother Nature VS. Mother's Nature

The New Modern Wing of the Art Institute by Renzo Piano with Monroe Harbor in the background awaiting the sailboats.

Springtime is finally arriving in Chicago. I don’t recall a more beautiful display of flowering trees and shrubs in recent years. Sailboats are making their way down the river and out into the Lake for the beginning of the season. (Things that make you go, “Life is good.”)

However, the rest of the country is literally awash in disasters.

All of us who have such treasured memories of the sugar-white beaches of South Alabama and North Florida and of the marsh lands at the mouth of the Mississippi are biting our nails awaiting the tracking news of the mass of oil emanating from the ruptured BP oil rig off the Louisiana coast. While winds and gulf currents have kept it at bay, for the most part, today it is reaching the Chandeleur Islands.

Tomorrow, British Petroleum lowers the large metal cap over the leak at a depth which this technology has never performed. Keep your fingers crossed. BP has indicated that if this fails, the spillage could reach 1.7 million gallons per day. Speaking of things crossed, did John Boehner imply that we needed “more” offshore drilling? (Things which make you go, "Oh great tanned wonder, the cocoa butter has seeped into some of you.")

Poor Nashville is under water. In the outlying areas, even school buildings are riding down the river like a pre-fabricated steamer minus the paddle wheel. Now, when Katrina devastated New Orleans, Pat Robertson blamed it on the city’s immorality. Everyone seems really quiet about Nashville’s Opry Land Hotel whose various lobbys are like reflecting pools. Does this mean that God is upset about the hotel being the site of the recent national meeting of the Tea Party? (Things that make you go “Hmmmmm.”)

The NYC bomber was apprehended before he flew to Dubai. It seems the “no-fly” list failed momentarily. Well, it has failed a number of times. Mildred Fowler was detained and not allowed to board her flight to the Mary Kay Convention because a passenger reported seeing something very suspicious as she was attempting to repack her bags in order to avoid a luggage fee. “Mildred, you never carry a toy pistol as a gift to your grandson. (Things that make you go, “Were you even thinking?”)

I congratulate the NYPD and the other agencies on catching the perpetrator of the failed terrorist attempt. However, you have to be a bit annoyed if you are the guy changing shirts on the street near the vehicle. That captured surveillance image was posted all over the web. Now his wife is wondering why he needed to change shirts before getting home? (Things that make you go, “Uh oh.”)

This weekend is one of the Hallmark holidays – “Mother’s Day.” Usually at this time, I am frantically phoning my sister in Alabama to get some idea of what my mother would like as a gift. She loved pink and she loved flowers. Sadly, she is no longer with us and I miss her. I miss her purple hair and her signature fragrance both a part of her nature. (Things that make you go, “Who sells Nina Ricci?”)

I miss both of them, the ones that stumbled upon my hollow log.

They were great folks and despite my many stories that evoke laughter at their eccentricities, they were two very wonderful people. (Things that make you go, “Thank you.”)

Blogless In Chicago

Gracia: Adoration Of The Child

My son reminded me earlier this week that I am falling behind with my blog entries. It was a gentle prod, but nevertheless, it pointed to my frustration.

I have started four or five or more entries without any real desire to complete them. They ranged from my frustrations with “change for the sake of change, not in response to a need” to the failure of people and groups to assimilate.

There was also the great photo that opens this post. This resulted from the youngest of the “little people” (my grandchildren) assembling her favorite characters in a type of “Adoration of the Child." However, that idea fizzled as well, along with a story about the "middle one" in Dallas and her obsession with her "dancing shoes."

There was the “birds and bees” and my father’s inability to deal with the subject. When asked about my being born, my parents told me that I was found in a hollow log while they were walking in the woods. There is so much trauma lodged in that concept that I qualify for free therapy on a daily basis. Did they stumble upon the wrong log by mistake? Am I really a Rockefeller? Will the anti-abortionists take on the logging interests?

There was the incident of the adopted child being shipped back to Russia. Since when I asked my mother, "Am I adopted?" and her response was, "Bless your heart, had you been adopted we would have sent you back," this rang too close to home.

I am livid with national politics, but have probably overstayed my “blog welcome” on that series of subjects.

And for all those who have insisted that “offshore drilling” was an “ok” concept, you might want to stand at the mouth of the Mississippi in the next couple of days to witness the impending disaster along the Louisiana coast. European offshore wells are required to have “remote shut-off valves” but not in the US. Like “mine safety,” it would be a cumbersome burden to place such requirements upon an industry.

And then there is the craziness that is also known as Arizona. Blame it on the cactus? There was a brief foray into the ever-changing ideals of their senator. Maybe it is time to retire and work with the family beer business?

Sarah has been quiet for the past couple of days.

I thought about writing about the guy in cardiac rehab who breezes in boisterously to have a go on the “NuStep” after announcing to the nurse that he had two pieces of pound cake for his breakfast.

I continue to pray that Oprah will discover the joy of anonymous altruism.

So, I am blogless for the moment.

I am awake from all the noise inside my head - why does cellular technology change so rapidly? the hollow log, possible adoption, does the tanning salon give John Boehner frequent flyer miles? - waiting for the muse.

Why do Southerners feel "Bless your heart" will solve all our problems?