One Woman's Remarkable Journey with Parkinson's Disease by CAROL CLUPNY
our friends house
written May 30th
We certainly made the best of a stormy situation. Charlie’s sister and I watched as the wind took shingles off houses. We saw a lot of snapped tree branches flying through the air and decided we really didn’t need to go out and save the BBQ. The wind increased in velocity and pulled more trees up by the root, tossing them on neighbors cars and against their houses. Charlie came home and announced we were having company for dinner as our friends’ house has been damaged. Of course we had no electricity to run the oven, but we salvaged the BBQ from its wreck on the back porch and moved it to the sheltered front porch where it pumped out just enough heat to cook up ribs and corn on the cob. We laughed through our candlelit dinner, and even harder when we had our dessert as our rummy minds spewed out hilarious combinations of words, totally by accident and some possibly inappropriate. With bellies full and voices hoarse from the goofiness our friends took advantage of a lull in the storm to head home. The house is quiet now, well built, solid so when we are inside we feel safe. We do not hear the wind outside.
With turmoil all around us we live on. We laugh and cry, eat and drink, celebrate death and new life. Civilization seemingly falls apart and is rebuilt. This is “our” story. As long as it is “our” story there is hope. “Our” means we share it. we belong to it. “Our” brings us together. “Our” home, “our” town, “our” state, “our” nation. No matter the turmoil brought about by mother nature, or man’s nature, when we stand together, break bread together, clean up debris together, laugh together then we have hope. The hope, “our” hope will remain.