A Tosa resident since 1991, Christine walks the dog, cooks but avoids housework, writes and reads, and enjoys the company of friends and strangers. Her job takes her around the state, learning about people's health. A Quaker (no, they don't wear blue hats or sell oatmeal or motor oil), she has been known to stand on both sides of the political and philosophic fence at the same time, which is very uncomfortable when you think about it. She writes about pretty much whatever stops in to visit her busy mind at the moment. One reader described her as "incredibly opinionated but not judgmental." That sounds like a good thing to strive for!
We live halfway up a hill, and when the heavy rains came most of the water ran down it to torment the neighbors below us. It's still running along the parkway, a bit of disputed territory between the county and the city.
The city had just poured tar and gravel on the streets, and the black cloth in the drains interferred some with proper flow. There were temporary fountains and little gravel beaches when the water subsided.
The ancient sump pump rose to the occasion. A tiny trickle of water seeped into the basement corner next to the driveway, where there's too much paving and a buried oil tank. We were lucky again.
Condolences to those who weren't.
Underwood Creek became ominious again. Last time it was like this, two boys lost their lives in it and were washed up near here. Now we call it Dead Boys Creek to remember them and to remember the power of nature.
I was in town last week, interviewing people just a few miles down the road from Wauwatosa. Which meant I white-knuckled it home along State Street in Friday's rain, thinking about the old song:
I been so lonesome I wanna go home ain't been home in ever so long
Goin' back home where happiness lies if the Lord is a willing and the creek don't rise
Goin' back home to see my mama again, all of my family and all of my friends
Wrap myself in family ties if the Lord is a willing and the creek don't rise