Waiting For The Storm To Pass…

8.25.2012

It was the day that Charles, my brother, and my dad were all starting their journeys home, when we were told that Hurricane Isaac was heading our way. At first, we thought that we could tough out the storm and join in on the madness. However, it didn’t take long for us to get another call from the resort saying that we needed to evacuate. We gathered our things, talked about driving to Nashville, or jumping on a plane to wherever the wind took us.

Instead, my mom, Makenna, and I decided to stay at a friend’s beach house, just an hour down the road.

We stocked up on delicious snacks and grabbed the hurricane essentials: chocolate, water, and red wine. When we got to the house, we couldn’t help but laugh. It was beautiful…. Right on the water and there wasn’t a single room lacking full length glass windows. The only thing was, this was supposed to be our “safe house.” So the full length windows and ocien view wasn’t exactly what we were looking for. We went inside, thankful of the help from our friends, unpacked our belongings, and waited for the storm.

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning how to dance in the rain.”

Unless it’s hurricane, it’s about getting the hell out.

 

Makenna and I decided to paint.

We both have such different ways of going about a painting, that you couldn’t even compare our work. Just after the sunset, the winds started to pick up and the rain started to pour. We sat and listened to the storm hit the glass (that we later found out was “hurricane proof”) and painted.

 

The hurricane moved West, and didn’t actually hit us as much as expected. After a few days of being at our little safe house, it was time to go back home. We dropped Maman off at the airport and headed back to the Palm. It turns out there was still a little bit of flooding on the island… but aside from that, it was if nothing had ever happened.

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One thought on “Waiting For The Storm To Pass…

  1. I love to follow you…by your breathtaking pictures and with your words that dances like the ones your grand-maman used in her poems. Love you tons my sweet Tori de mon coeur. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxo

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