NEWSLETTERS

August 2002
©2002 Terri Hendrix

"If it were not for hopes, the heart would break."
Thomas Fuller

"No hope, no action."
Peter Levi

"Hope, that star of life's tremulous ocean."
Paul Moon James

"Never let go of that fiery sadness called desire."
Patti Smith

"Inspiration," in my book, is perhaps the most valuable word in our language. It's what keeps love alive and the seeds of fear and unhappiness from taking root in the garden of the disenchanted. Inspiration gives me hope. And hope is what has enabled my family, friends and me to cope with whatever fate has thrown our way over the years. Inspiration comes from many sources, often overlooked: music, rhythm, nature, fresh cut grass, the smell of vanilla or fresh baked bread, beauty, art, dance, laughter, a kid's toothy (or toothless) grin....these are just a few sources that help keep our paths lit when the sun ducks behind the clouds. Often, the kind acts of others can light the ol' fire in the soul and bring hope where there was once none. In July, I witnessed a healthy dose of bad luck in Texas (flood) and Colorado (fire). Those affected by these misfortunes were uplifted by the generosity of others. The kind actions of compassionate souls inspired the disheartened and provided the hope necessary to begin....again.

In troubled times, I'll recall this past month and feel inspiration and....hope.

One July afternoon, while fireworks were prepared to make their yearly pilgrimage across the Texas sky, those in Central Texas were learning first-hand about Noah and the Ark while getting out their oars and life preservers. Some had just finished rebuilding their homes from the flood of '98, only to be confronted with a situation in '02 that was just as bad, if not worse. After several days of rain, the water in the dam came pouring over the spillway. The river rose into a thundering wall, forever changing everything in its path.

My longtime friend's Canyon Lake home, which had never before experienced flood, took a swim in the Guadalupe River. This special place was once my home - I wrote "Cathy's Corner" and "Moon on the Water" about it - and was a place frequented by all fortunate enough to know its owner. Before the emergency evacuation, a skillet and tractor keys were saved. (Is that Texan, or what?).

Days later, when the water receded and the roads re-opened, I warily arrived along with several other friends, family members and neighbors to help out during the clean-up process. It was as if the entire subdivision was having a garage sale - except that the waterlogged possessions spread out across the grass were covered in silt, sewage, and slime. Between that and the mosquitoes (large enough to have bumper stickers on their stingers), the area was absolutely devastated. The first good laugh we had was over the fish we found swimming in my friend's living room. That one chuckle helped us begin the process. And during the weeks of clean up, this is what we witnessed:

* Red Cross vehicles brought medical supplies, free tetanus shots, hot meals, water, and rags every day.

* The neighborhood church sent a truckload of boys to clean out the backyard debris and haul the waste off to the dump. They weren't asked to do this; they just showed up. So did the electrician, who came to check all the plugs in the home so no one would electrocute themselves.

* The local Home Depot cut prices on necessary supplies and made gift cards affordable to employers so they could pass them on to employees hit hard by the flood.

* The police kept looters away by drowning one as a deterrent. (Just joking.)

* Relatives, friends, and strangers bagged, cleaned, dragged, knocked out moldy sheet rock, pulled up flooring, cleaned toilets and sinks, boiled dishes, and readied the home for phase two of the repair process.

* The local thrift stores and businesses collected clothes and blankets to provide to the needy.

In short, "Cathy's Corner" took a swim, but it was because of the extraordinary actions of others that the place didn't drown.

The week after the flood I played three Colorado dates - in Carbondale, Frisco, and Florissant. Driving along a beautiful stretch of road en route to one venue, I noticed hundreds of tents scattered across the hills in a roped-off area. I thought, "Folk Festival....what's the line up, and where's the stage?" Later on that evening, I learned that these "campers" weren't festival attendees at all, but residential evacuees - folks who no longer had a home, might have a home, or might not have a home if the wind happened to shift. The place where we performed, in fact, had only recently been transformed back into a venue. The night before it had housed evacuees as well.

In all, The fire destroyed 137,000 acres and more than 100 homes. One county sheriff prepared the families before their return by saying, "This isn't going to be the same area in your lifetime or my lifetime as when you left Sunday." Still, the stories told to me by the victims were similar to those I witnessed out at Canyon Lake.

Kindness and humanity came to the rescue again.

I thought of those who gave so tirelessly, so unselfishly of themselves, and I read, conjured up, or dreamed these words: You give me hope. You enable me see that tomorrow just might be better than today. And for that, my friend, you are my inspiration.

As always, thank you for the support and inspiration.

Warm regards,
Terri Hendrix
© August 2002

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