Readers might think this is a blog about the popular music group from the '70s. They are on tour and perform in Austin on June 11, yes. Earth, Wind & Fire appear at ACL LIVE! at the Moody Theater and tickets are still available.
That said, Texas has had its own version of earth, wind and fire the past few weeks: dry earth, high winds and wildfires that have destroyed homes and changed people's lives. Persons carrying lighted matches are forbidden. Campfires are prohibited. Fireworks are banned. Temperatures in Austin have been in the low 90s -- which is great for those who like summer in April -- but not good for the crops, lawns and blooming flowers.
As Texans look for relief from the heat and pray for rain -- Gov. Rick Perry formally asked for three days of prayer from citizens during Easter weekend -- other states are drowned in downpours. Hurricane experts predict an above-average Atlantic basin hurricane season, statistics calling for 16 named storms between June 1 and Nov. 30 this year.
Where's the balance? I ask. But there's a bright spot here and I've set the scene to simply focus on one humorous image that made me smile on my drive to work this morning.
I hurriedly drove Interstate 35 south into Downtown Austin and manuevered behind a truck to get nearer my exit. Though I hate trailing behind vehicles I can't see around, this one carried unique cargo. The sign on its rear end read "Hurricane resistant skylights."
Oh, really? I asked myself. "Hurricane resistant skylights?" Seriously?
I tried to picture it: Ike and Rita were both pretty ferocius, I recalled. Devastated cities. Destroyed homes as if they were made of straw like those in "The 3 Little Pigs." The hurricanes' power toppled towers, stranded people on rooftops.
"But, Mrs. Smith, if you'd only have purchased our 'hurricane resistant skylights' you wouldn't have all this water in your house."
No matter that Mrs. Smith's siding is gone and the grand staircase to the second floor lies across the road in her neighbor's yard!
I shook my head as I passed the truck, glancing at the flats of windows latched onto its bed. Not hardly, I thought, and laughed.
I suspect after a hurricane passes through, that new hole in Mrs. Smith's roof, compliments of Mother Nature, is more skylight than she might care to see.
Now the only question I have is, what was a truck with "hurricane resistant skylights" doing in Austin, Texas? We've not had a drop of rain -- let alone, a hurricane -- in months.
Or maybe that's where the company has success selling the products, in a place where there are no downpours of any kind -- on the dusty hills and parched plains of Texas.
Look at it this way: the promise of a "hurricane" might sound pretty good about now, to those of us wishing the skies would -- just for a day or two -- swell with thunderheads and pour forth roaring, cool liquid.
It would be an answer to prayers, washing away the high fire danger, filling lakes and streams to normal levels -- and then we can get on with life: pondering how to manage our frizzy hair because it's so darn humid here!
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