This diary is dedicated to kossack Tim McMahon, whose Apology to Katrina Victims expressed so perfectly the moral of the following song and video: this is all our town.
There is no safety zone. You will run to the rock for refuge and there will be no rock. Time and chance happeneth to them all.
And we are all in this together. Period.
Direct link to video is here.
We'd all like to forget. There's always a new horror. It's all too much.
Ah, but the easiest thing to forget: how much a little can mean when nothing's what you've got. The box of food. The cleaning supplies. The kids' clothes.
The tentative, comforting hand on an arm in the dark: it means nothing. It is the lamest least you could possibly think of.
The hand on an arm in the dark: it means everything. It is the window with a glimpse of something past. . . this.
I don't really care if you help Occupy Sandy or Robin Hood or Red Cross. Or your food bank. Or Shelter Box or even the United Damn Way.
Whatever. Put a hand on someone's arm tonight. "For a minute I thought that I was in this all alone." Blow that person's mind tonight. Choke them up mercilessly, so they'll never, ever be able to find the words.
Good thing, too. You might be too choked to talk yourself.
That's all from me. Hope all have a reasonably good season.