part 10 of the storm chaser saga [fiction ripped from the headlines]:
©Mark H. Pillsbury
Rescue over the Rainbow (rating: PG-13)
Comparing these two free-spirits to some sort of weather phenomena would be too simple; a spring breeze blowing hard, unpredictably, and fresh; or a fierce hurricane gale with wet fury and the damaging ebb and flow of a storm surge. Weather metaphors don’t do justice to the mercurial ways of the two young storm chasers trapped in the east Texas wilderness during the massive wildfires of summer 2011.
Certainly they lived an exciting, romantic life on the road; except summers which were usually reserved for relaxation and retrospective of a successful spring of capturing tornadoes on video, preferably reminiscing with an icy-cold drink in their hand. The “long way” through Texas had proven to be an egregious error, one for which they might pay with their lives.
Jessica caught the breaks growing up, being smart, perky, and curious, the constant-learner of her friends, popular and yet more mature in many ways than her high-school crowd. She was beautiful but never dressed to draw in the boys like a siren; she was smart but never too cool or too busy studying to have fun with the rest of her gang. Her interest in weather came from Jessica's relationship with her father, who taught not be afraid of the big storms that raged through the Midwest, taking her outside even as debris flew through the air during a storm. His calm demeanor and respect for the power of God shown in nature was at the root of her curiosity, and it gave Jessica the confidence to study what could never be controlled or reduced to something stared at through a microscope. Meteorology was majestic, mysterious, meticulous, but at the same time it was grandiose.
On the other hand, Rick was the average all-American daredevil Oklahoma show-off, under-sized and a bit geeky for his contemporaries growing up in the rural state north of Texas. He never cared much for sports in a town ravenous for football glory, just one of the ways in which he felt misunderstood. He would sooner study on Saturday than waste the whole day in the scorching sun without being able to “move.” Even though Rick never really competed in sports, he was as mobile as a point-guard, aggressive as a middle-linebacker, and as swift as a soccer-midfielder attacking the ball. Rick poured his time into studying meteorology because he had a plan: follow big storms until he got close enough to record HD video, which he could sell like Blue Fin Tuna off Cape Cod, premium catch paying premium dollars.
There are thousands of so-called “storm-chasers,” just like thousands who think they can make money playing golf. However, being a “professional” storm-chaser takes the same stamina, will, and accuracy of a man who shapes a 7-iron tee shot from 200 yards, placing a tiny white ball on a postage-stamp green; with the cameras rolling! It takes skill, preparation, planning, intuition, courage, luck, and patience to go to the right point and wait for a hurtling freight-train without tracks to barrel toward your intersection when everyone else in the county is running for cover. Guessing the direction of a mesocyclone is tricky business, staying put so it comes to hit you square in the mouth is an act of bravado or insanity, whichever way you look at it. But Rick was willing to take just about any chance to nail the “money clip,” as they called the short snippet of footage networks and news agencies were willing to buy for large coinage.
They worked so hard together chasing weather for about a year that love had a hard time squeezing in between Rick and his mistress, Miss Tornado Alley. He sought the next storm with a relentless fervor, as if pursuing a lover. Jessica followed along as an able assistant, good at whatever she was asked to do; but never with the intensity of the president and CEO of T&A, Rick Tarleton, the rising entrepreneur of extreme weather. As they grew to rely on each other more, and when the money was short in the first few months, Jessica thought it was alright to stay with Rick in one motel room on the road. Infrequently they would also have a trail car of some OU-meteor buddies, the “subs” as Rick affectionately called them, however he would never let on that they were an item; she had to get her own room on those occasions. Their liaisons were physical and inconsistent, yet they deeply cared for each other in an immature way. They were too busy to define their relationship or really talk about what was coming next; which is why this vacation was pivotal in the evolution of their lives. Jessica was ready to take their connection to the next level, but she was uncomfortable with an existence on the road chasing tornadoes.
She felt some independence with the extra pay she received doing the weekend weather on the local FOX TV affiliate, channel 25. It was nice being a small-town celebrity, but how much creativity went into reporting Oklahoma weather? Really, it was hot for so long, then bitter cold reigned for 3 months bringing some snow, finally the excitement of spring showed Okies the only extreme weather drama they could see in a year. Once again, her reporting returned to the dust-bowl heat of the 6-month drought known as summer. Jessica wanted people to be happy, so she treasured the few times when her enthusiasm for weather was a positive force in the community on a beautiful weekend. She enjoyed telling her neighbors to go out and make it a great weekend when she knew the weather would cooperate, and just the fact of her being on TV made her, unnatural as it was, bigger-than-life. Jessica treated that role with honor and respect, like a rainbow. Maybe in the background, Rick was a little bit jealous.
Their mission was to slowly make it to the new cruise ship terminal at the Port of Houston known as Barbours Cut, then taking a “party boat” out into the Caribbean Sea, where Rick and Jessica loved to scuba dive. It gave them the same thrill as chasing God’s creation above the ocean surface. Stopping in Liberty County was a chance detour, but Rick wanted to see his cousin Clay who had some land, a pond on which to fish, and a small bunkhouse. The wildfires were uninvited guests. Actually, they listened to country music driving down through east Texas, and did not pay attention to the headlines about the massive Texas drought or the local fire plague. This was a lazy time of year when they both decided to “unplug.” As quickly as a tornado strikes an unsuspecting town asleep during an unstable spring evening, wildfires have consumed over 3 million acres of Texas forest almost 16 thousand times in separate incidents of reported fires. Almost every Texas County had a burn ban, rural areas a tinderbox for indiscriminate flames.
Strangely, Rick used none of the tools of his previous success reacting to this emergency. Clay was forceful and confident but ultimately he did not stay together with the team during the most critical time of their escape. Jessica, dutifully compliant and contrite until overcome by smoke and exhaustion, was this tragedy’s character least likely to take risks or ignore the danger in which they found themselves. Wildfires seem isolated and small compared to a tornado’s fury, but their lack of respect for the power of fire put them in a compromised position: it was like someone thinking that staying underneath a beach umbrella will keep them from getting sunburned; at the end of the day, without sunblock, the heat, pain, and burning sensation can ruin a vacation!
This was the same consistently smart, diligent, serious young lady she had always been, even though Jessica had avoided dozens of close scrapes with menacing threats over the years since the tranquil days at OU. Inexplicably, she found herself boarding a yellow fire helicopter with her boyfriend Rick, lacking control, disoriented by the past few hours of running, and weakened to the point of giving up; however, even at the last minute as she boarded, Jessica flashed her 1000-watt smile to the pilot which gave him the little boost of courage he needed to perform under such harrowing circumstances, under which he had never before flown. Finally, everything was going to be alright. They were rising upward, soaring, pulling ascendant against gravity to the heavens, away from the fiery furnace below.
to be continued in chapter XI...
©Mark H. Pillsbury (2011)
[Legal disclaimer: no part of this blog, any idea, line of fictional characters, or publication of written materials (a/k/a "intellectual property" or IP) may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form. It is arguable whether in fact, any permission in advance is even possible within the legal "fair use doctrine." The full extent of the law may be used in defending copyrights and trademarks, if necessary. Therefore, copying, quoting, crediting, or any reference to this IP, is permissible only under certain circumstances but should be done carefully after consulting legal counsel. Thank you, but a lawyer friend suggested this could be a problem if the storm chaser saga really went viral, or "caught fire," pardon that pun. You gotta keep your sense of humor when dealing with the Law?]
Friday, July 29, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
KIAH (CW) Channel 39 NewsFIX
Watched Channel 39 CW Houston News FIX last night in the 9 O'clock hour and it is a new type of late evening news for the younger demographic (if they actually watch the news on TV).
Part TMZ, part Twitter, part tabloid trash, part newscast: a quick hitting hybrid for the younger TV generation not hip to Master Dave Ward and Gina Gaston over on the traditional ABC station.
It is apparent that news will never be the same, after social media gets us the feed in 140 characters or less. I found it distracting as I relaxed in a dark room, but it was interesting. "A" for effort, 39.
Call it the ADD/ADHD newscast for the under 30-set, but it had an eclectic mix of infortainment and news. The billboards advertising the NewsFIX all over town make it appear this is a major push for the station. Good luck.
Part TMZ, part Twitter, part tabloid trash, part newscast: a quick hitting hybrid for the younger TV generation not hip to Master Dave Ward and Gina Gaston over on the traditional ABC station.
It is apparent that news will never be the same, after social media gets us the feed in 140 characters or less. I found it distracting as I relaxed in a dark room, but it was interesting. "A" for effort, 39.
Call it the ADD/ADHD newscast for the under 30-set, but it had an eclectic mix of infortainment and news. The billboards advertising the NewsFIX all over town make it appear this is a major push for the station. Good luck.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Mirrored Majesty (from Psalm 8)
http://tiny.cc/1nsr2
This sermon was preached in Houston on July 24, 2011:
It was a profound moment. We all search for significance, and we have it in the fact that we were created by God, for a special purpose.
That purpose might be elusive to those who actually seek it, however, it is no less true.
And we can be at peace with all men, even the ones we do not like or with whom we disagree, b/c they too were created with the care and love of their creator, giving them immense dignity.
This 20 min. can change your life... Best always,
MHP
This sermon was preached in Houston on July 24, 2011:
It was a profound moment. We all search for significance, and we have it in the fact that we were created by God, for a special purpose.
That purpose might be elusive to those who actually seek it, however, it is no less true.
And we can be at peace with all men, even the ones we do not like or with whom we disagree, b/c they too were created with the care and love of their creator, giving them immense dignity.
This 20 min. can change your life... Best always,
MHP
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Double feature: episodes 8 & 9 of the storm chaser saga...
Fiction ripped from the headlines... ©Mark H. Pillsbury
"Texas Remains a Tinderbox": http://goo.gl/R0psZ
"Wildfires cause Fatigue": http://goo.gl/hhBUi
"More Firefighters arriving by Air": http://goo.gl/7ZSqI
"Obama grants Texas appeal for Wildfire Disaster Declaration": http://goo.gl/Fzz9B
Part VIII: The Maze
Swiftly moving through the dense green maze towards another opening, Clay trudged farther in front of the storm chasers, to the point they eventually lost the link to his lead. They were not holding onto each other hand-to-fin like in Devil’s Throat, but at least there was visual connection. Smoke obstructed their peripheral vision, the searing heat and impenetrable forest squeezed the life out of them, and ultimately Clay went left and they turned right, leaving them alone in a clearing. Abruptly, they turned another chapter.
“Claaaaaay-tooarrrr!” Rick yelled forcefully more than once hearing no reply.
“God, where did he go?!” he asked Jessica.
Rick held Jessica’s hand while fleeing but somehow lost contact with his cousin for just an instant, the next thing he knew they were separated. They were devastated for losing their escort; Clay’s strength had been a lifeline.
“Should we stay here to see if he circles back?” Jessica asked.
Rick felt exhausted and confused, “Jess, let me think for a second; I don’t know what to do right now.”
“We need to find Clay, let’s go back to the spot when we split,” Rick said. Jessica did not want to return to the forest, but she understood Rick’s concern.
Retracing their steps seemed harder this time, Rick was not sure where they diverged, but he kept yelling Clay’s name, hoping for some response. Disoriented, they were lost inside of an isolated portion of Liberty County surrounded by wildfire without any viable tools to alleviate their dilemma. Circling broadly for almost an hour, becoming more depleted mentally and physically, their diving school training helped a little, but a creeping, debilitating, panicked vertigo overcame their efforts to stay in control.
“I have to stop, Rick!” Jessica pleaded. “This is insane. We aren’t going in the right direction.”
“You stay here I have to go find Clay.” Rick vowed, wild-eyed, weary.
“Rick, stay with me, puhlease!?” Jessica was in tears, insisting as she sat on a log. “Are you going crazy because of smoke inhalation?” “We cannot split up, Rick. All three of us will die alone!”
Rick and Jessica sat on a log, bereft of a response to this incredible challenge. Their relationship frayed in this crucible, fatigue reducing them to cornered beasts rather than reasonable young adults, their adrenaline-rich supply of courage used-up. For a couple that had faced huge storms, man’s oldest friend/foe brought them to their knees.
“I love you so much, Jess, I could never leave you.” “Whatever happens here, I want you to know that I love you.” Rick was crying or the smoke made his eyes water, it did not matter; Jessica buried her head in Rick’s arms and they sat defeated, but together.
Ironically, Rick wondered how all the twisters in tornado alley had not brought them closer, but now this wildfire forced them to confront their mortality, priorities, and love’s bond. All he wanted was to take care of Jessica and keep them safe. For once he yearned to live in peace as a family. As he enjoyed their close touch a fierce hot wind blew through the forest, and they stood-up immediately knowing another escape route was closed.
To their flank, they supposed from the west, all their senses told them the wall of fire was descending on them so instinctively they set off in the opposite direction. They were storm-chasers after all, and when the storm turns your direction the first reaction is to be nimble.
Going through the clearing and one more dense section of forest did not lead them to another road or passage to safety; instead they found themselves in another smoky chamber, where Jessica started to falter due to breathing too much smoke. They stopped again.
“I feel like I’m choking Rick, and the smoke is making me light-headed.” “Let’s stop now,” she said firmly.
“OK, babe, but we have to try to find a farm road again,” Rick responded, “maybe we can catch an emergency vehicle coming by, they have to be out here fighting this fire!”
Rick lost track of time, barely thinking about Clay anymore. He worried that he would have to carry Jessica out of the woods. He was exhausted, but he would do anything at this point to save her.
“Jess, let me carry you if you can’t go,” She was woozy and sitting limply against a tree. Rick gathered her up in loving embrace, going further toward what he hoped was a roadway. He could feel Jessica lose consciousness intermittently, but he continued.
In the distance they heard a faint, whirring siren and quickly moved that direction, finally reaching a narrow thoroughfare. Rick and Jessica fell into the middle of the road, not “planking,” but on one knee gasping for air. Overjoyed to see an emergency vehicle racing their direction, Jessica collapsed in Rick’s arms again. Laughing and crying together, it seemed that even though the raging fire and thick smoke were imminent, they again dodged nature’s onslaught.
“Hop in the back, we’re going to meet a supply helicopter near here!” The county fire truck was a brilliant red, with a bed full of equipment and two sooty, charred heroes in the front of the cab. Rick and Jessica did not take time to ask questions or explain, but immediately Rick thought of his cousin Clay.
“God, Jess, what’s gonna happen to Clay in that forest? It’s like hell in there!” Rick was concerned.
Jessica, too stunned to answer, could barely breathe; her normal respiration reduced to a mere wheeze. She was elated to be through devil’s throat once again.
Part IX: The Rescue
photo credit: Washington DNR
The stretch of burning trees broke for the first time in miles. As the scarlet fire vehicle pulled up, men in bright orange suits tried to ensure a gargantuan transformer didn’t burst into flames like the rest of the forest. The firefighter spoke into his walkie-talkie in order to gain clearance into the landing area. More uniformed helpers rushed over with water and aid for the two exhausted storm chasers.
The yellow rescue helicopter descended, chopping the smoky air, signalman waving wildly at the targeted destination well clear of the transformer wires.
“Hold on just a little longer, Jess. Copter’s landing and we will get outta here soon,” Rick urged, trying to motivate Jessica as the supplies were transferred off of the yellow bird. Fighting wildfires took manpower, and supplies constantly replenished by aerial support.
image: North Carolina
Chief of the Operations came up hurriedly, ordering them onboard. Rick thought it was odd that he didn’t ask them what they were doing in the middle of the smoldering Liberty County forest; nevertheless he grabbed the man at the door of the copter and told him they couldn’t leave yet. “You don’t understand Sir, but my cousin’s in the middle of that fire! You gotta do something about—” Rick was cut off by the foreman.
“Son, you either get on that helicopter now or wait for the next one, and I can’t guarantee when that will be, I will notify my men in the field to be on the lookout for your relative. Give me a description.” This put Rick in the position of having to choose between evacuating Jessica and staying to search for his cousin. He knew what he had to do.
To be continued in episode ten…
©Mark H. Pillsbury & ©Eliza C. Pillsbury (composed as a work of fiction 23 July 2011)
"Texas Remains a Tinderbox": http://goo.gl/R0psZ
"Wildfires cause Fatigue": http://goo.gl/hhBUi
"More Firefighters arriving by Air": http://goo.gl/7ZSqI
"Obama grants Texas appeal for Wildfire Disaster Declaration": http://goo.gl/Fzz9B
Part VIII: The Maze
Swiftly moving through the dense green maze towards another opening, Clay trudged farther in front of the storm chasers, to the point they eventually lost the link to his lead. They were not holding onto each other hand-to-fin like in Devil’s Throat, but at least there was visual connection. Smoke obstructed their peripheral vision, the searing heat and impenetrable forest squeezed the life out of them, and ultimately Clay went left and they turned right, leaving them alone in a clearing. Abruptly, they turned another chapter.
“Claaaaaay-tooarrrr!” Rick yelled forcefully more than once hearing no reply.
“God, where did he go?!” he asked Jessica.
Rick held Jessica’s hand while fleeing but somehow lost contact with his cousin for just an instant, the next thing he knew they were separated. They were devastated for losing their escort; Clay’s strength had been a lifeline.
“Should we stay here to see if he circles back?” Jessica asked.
Rick felt exhausted and confused, “Jess, let me think for a second; I don’t know what to do right now.”
“We need to find Clay, let’s go back to the spot when we split,” Rick said. Jessica did not want to return to the forest, but she understood Rick’s concern.
Retracing their steps seemed harder this time, Rick was not sure where they diverged, but he kept yelling Clay’s name, hoping for some response. Disoriented, they were lost inside of an isolated portion of Liberty County surrounded by wildfire without any viable tools to alleviate their dilemma. Circling broadly for almost an hour, becoming more depleted mentally and physically, their diving school training helped a little, but a creeping, debilitating, panicked vertigo overcame their efforts to stay in control.
“I have to stop, Rick!” Jessica pleaded. “This is insane. We aren’t going in the right direction.”
“You stay here I have to go find Clay.” Rick vowed, wild-eyed, weary.
“Rick, stay with me, puhlease!?” Jessica was in tears, insisting as she sat on a log. “Are you going crazy because of smoke inhalation?” “We cannot split up, Rick. All three of us will die alone!”
Rick and Jessica sat on a log, bereft of a response to this incredible challenge. Their relationship frayed in this crucible, fatigue reducing them to cornered beasts rather than reasonable young adults, their adrenaline-rich supply of courage used-up. For a couple that had faced huge storms, man’s oldest friend/foe brought them to their knees.
“I love you so much, Jess, I could never leave you.” “Whatever happens here, I want you to know that I love you.” Rick was crying or the smoke made his eyes water, it did not matter; Jessica buried her head in Rick’s arms and they sat defeated, but together.
Ironically, Rick wondered how all the twisters in tornado alley had not brought them closer, but now this wildfire forced them to confront their mortality, priorities, and love’s bond. All he wanted was to take care of Jessica and keep them safe. For once he yearned to live in peace as a family. As he enjoyed their close touch a fierce hot wind blew through the forest, and they stood-up immediately knowing another escape route was closed.
To their flank, they supposed from the west, all their senses told them the wall of fire was descending on them so instinctively they set off in the opposite direction. They were storm-chasers after all, and when the storm turns your direction the first reaction is to be nimble.
Going through the clearing and one more dense section of forest did not lead them to another road or passage to safety; instead they found themselves in another smoky chamber, where Jessica started to falter due to breathing too much smoke. They stopped again.
“I feel like I’m choking Rick, and the smoke is making me light-headed.” “Let’s stop now,” she said firmly.
“OK, babe, but we have to try to find a farm road again,” Rick responded, “maybe we can catch an emergency vehicle coming by, they have to be out here fighting this fire!”
Rick lost track of time, barely thinking about Clay anymore. He worried that he would have to carry Jessica out of the woods. He was exhausted, but he would do anything at this point to save her.
“Jess, let me carry you if you can’t go,” She was woozy and sitting limply against a tree. Rick gathered her up in loving embrace, going further toward what he hoped was a roadway. He could feel Jessica lose consciousness intermittently, but he continued.
In the distance they heard a faint, whirring siren and quickly moved that direction, finally reaching a narrow thoroughfare. Rick and Jessica fell into the middle of the road, not “planking,” but on one knee gasping for air. Overjoyed to see an emergency vehicle racing their direction, Jessica collapsed in Rick’s arms again. Laughing and crying together, it seemed that even though the raging fire and thick smoke were imminent, they again dodged nature’s onslaught.
“Hop in the back, we’re going to meet a supply helicopter near here!” The county fire truck was a brilliant red, with a bed full of equipment and two sooty, charred heroes in the front of the cab. Rick and Jessica did not take time to ask questions or explain, but immediately Rick thought of his cousin Clay.
“God, Jess, what’s gonna happen to Clay in that forest? It’s like hell in there!” Rick was concerned.
Jessica, too stunned to answer, could barely breathe; her normal respiration reduced to a mere wheeze. She was elated to be through devil’s throat once again.
Part IX: The Rescue
The stretch of burning trees broke for the first time in miles. As the scarlet fire vehicle pulled up, men in bright orange suits tried to ensure a gargantuan transformer didn’t burst into flames like the rest of the forest. The firefighter spoke into his walkie-talkie in order to gain clearance into the landing area. More uniformed helpers rushed over with water and aid for the two exhausted storm chasers.
The yellow rescue helicopter descended, chopping the smoky air, signalman waving wildly at the targeted destination well clear of the transformer wires.
“Hold on just a little longer, Jess. Copter’s landing and we will get outta here soon,” Rick urged, trying to motivate Jessica as the supplies were transferred off of the yellow bird. Fighting wildfires took manpower, and supplies constantly replenished by aerial support.
Chief of the Operations came up hurriedly, ordering them onboard. Rick thought it was odd that he didn’t ask them what they were doing in the middle of the smoldering Liberty County forest; nevertheless he grabbed the man at the door of the copter and told him they couldn’t leave yet. “You don’t understand Sir, but my cousin’s in the middle of that fire! You gotta do something about—” Rick was cut off by the foreman.
“Son, you either get on that helicopter now or wait for the next one, and I can’t guarantee when that will be, I will notify my men in the field to be on the lookout for your relative. Give me a description.” This put Rick in the position of having to choose between evacuating Jessica and staying to search for his cousin. He knew what he had to do.
To be continued in episode ten…
©Mark H. Pillsbury & ©Eliza C. Pillsbury (composed as a work of fiction 23 July 2011)
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
The New Rostra (rostra novum) A new blog: Part VII: The Journey
The New Rostra (rostra novum) A new blog: Part VII: The Journey: "The Journey (from the storm chaser saga...) ©Mark H. Pillsbury Image: Augusta Jones dress/Hilary Jessica beamed walking down the aisle t..."
I envisioned episode VII would be the conclusion of the storm chaser saga, but I thought that Rick was so full of regret for not having married Jessica and settled down, essentially doing what she had nagged him about for over a year; that the regret illustrated by his daydream would merit one more post. They have run out of options in this thick Texas woodland. The final chapter will be called "A time to Die" from the ecclesiastical reference made in the sixth episode. How many more it takes to get to the conclusion, I just don't know at this point, but keep reading!?
image credit: ©Lego (Fire and Rescue set)
I envisioned episode VII would be the conclusion of the storm chaser saga, but I thought that Rick was so full of regret for not having married Jessica and settled down, essentially doing what she had nagged him about for over a year; that the regret illustrated by his daydream would merit one more post. They have run out of options in this thick Texas woodland. The final chapter will be called "A time to Die" from the ecclesiastical reference made in the sixth episode. How many more it takes to get to the conclusion, I just don't know at this point, but keep reading!?
Part VII: The Journey
The Journey (from the storm chaser saga...) ©Mark H. Pillsbury
Image: Augusta Jones dress/Hilary
Jessica beamed walking down the aisle toward her eager groom, beautiful in an off-the-shoulder dress she bought for a steal in Dallas. Rick’s eyes moistened, not fully comprehending the significance of this day, they had come through so much to arrive at these nuptials. His storm chaser groomsmen grinned and poked at each other agreeing how hot she looked, genuinely happy for this couple they had known for so long, with whom they hunted the terrible twisters of Tornado Alley.
Hazy thoughts merged into one of their house together on a quiet Norman street: dogs yelping, mowers humming, children playing; steady suburban bliss for spouses beginning life together. Rick teaching at the University and Jessica working at KOKH on the weekends, the Tahoe traded for a Honda sedan and a babyseat; their journey ending up in the peaceful outskirts of a college town they knew well, with a conclusion this couple only dreamed of.
After years of dangerous, adrenaline-pumping pursuit of natural weather phenomena, Rick and Jessica settled down into domesticity and routine, eschewing a volatile, reckless lifestyle for one of patterns and predictability, consistency and certainty. They were happy together, comfortable with sameness rather than the adventure of life on the road in the face of death. This was a switch voluntarily made, trading wild mercurial love for marital oneness. Rick pictured himself holding his wife early in the morning, lovingly brushing her hair back over her ear, misty about lost opportunity even as the CRACKLE of the blaze snapped him out of his daydream.
Image: North Carolina
Clay yelled from the fire break, he saw an opening out of the closing circle of flames. Motionless, Rick was quickly rolling through might-have-beens in his mind as he and Jessica stood by the truck. Clay scouted the scene around their dead-end cul-de-sac: no roads, no turns, no water, no helicopter, no GPS, no cell phones, no laptop, no 9-1-1 calls, no fire/rescue teams, no knights riding glistening white steeds would show up where they were trapped whisking them away from peril.
They would have to run to higher ground, some refuge from all this dark, suffocating smoke and burning, oppressive heat.
Rick moved with resignation, sadly, toward Clay, pulling Jessica by the arm, wondering if his soft suburban fantasy would ever come true; gripped by fear that their escape route seemed to be through the a dark tunnel of trees, leading to an unknown destination of indefinite peril. Like devil’s throat off Cozumel, each team member follows the next, linked hand-in-hand, or hand-in-fin, restricted all around, unable to see, or stretch wide, pushing slowly through the passage.
The bed of straw, pine needles, dried leaves, and branches tamped down with each step, crunching and shuffling as they hurried down the trail. With dryness in the air and underfoot, it was understandable why wildfires consumed acre after acre of fuel-rich woodland. Clay led them through a winding journey seemingly going nowhere but at least they were leaving the fire.
photo credit: AP/ J.C. Hong
Rick’s instincts to path-through-plan nagged him as he dragged Jessica bouncily down the path like a rag doll lagging slowly behind, hitting saplings and trunks as if a pinball. While they hurried, Rick wondered if this maze was a question with no answer, a puzzle with a missing piece. His bias toward action included favoritism of maps and planned escape routes via radar tracking, so he was as frustrated as he was frightened!
Were they going downward in elevation, or did it just appear to Jessica that the plunge down devil’s throat this time happened in a dry hot land descending into a dark, smoky grave?
(to be continued in Part 8...)
©Mark H. Pillsbury (this work of fiction was composed on 19 July 2011)
Jessica beamed walking down the aisle toward her eager groom, beautiful in an off-the-shoulder dress she bought for a steal in Dallas. Rick’s eyes moistened, not fully comprehending the significance of this day, they had come through so much to arrive at these nuptials. His storm chaser groomsmen grinned and poked at each other agreeing how hot she looked, genuinely happy for this couple they had known for so long, with whom they hunted the terrible twisters of Tornado Alley.
Hazy thoughts merged into one of their house together on a quiet Norman street: dogs yelping, mowers humming, children playing; steady suburban bliss for spouses beginning life together. Rick teaching at the University and Jessica working at KOKH on the weekends, the Tahoe traded for a Honda sedan and a babyseat; their journey ending up in the peaceful outskirts of a college town they knew well, with a conclusion this couple only dreamed of.
After years of dangerous, adrenaline-pumping pursuit of natural weather phenomena, Rick and Jessica settled down into domesticity and routine, eschewing a volatile, reckless lifestyle for one of patterns and predictability, consistency and certainty. They were happy together, comfortable with sameness rather than the adventure of life on the road in the face of death. This was a switch voluntarily made, trading wild mercurial love for marital oneness. Rick pictured himself holding his wife early in the morning, lovingly brushing her hair back over her ear, misty about lost opportunity even as the CRACKLE of the blaze snapped him out of his daydream.
Clay yelled from the fire break, he saw an opening out of the closing circle of flames. Motionless, Rick was quickly rolling through might-have-beens in his mind as he and Jessica stood by the truck. Clay scouted the scene around their dead-end cul-de-sac: no roads, no turns, no water, no helicopter, no GPS, no cell phones, no laptop, no 9-1-1 calls, no fire/rescue teams, no knights riding glistening white steeds would show up where they were trapped whisking them away from peril.
They would have to run to higher ground, some refuge from all this dark, suffocating smoke and burning, oppressive heat.
Rick moved with resignation, sadly, toward Clay, pulling Jessica by the arm, wondering if his soft suburban fantasy would ever come true; gripped by fear that their escape route seemed to be through the a dark tunnel of trees, leading to an unknown destination of indefinite peril. Like devil’s throat off Cozumel, each team member follows the next, linked hand-in-hand, or hand-in-fin, restricted all around, unable to see, or stretch wide, pushing slowly through the passage.
The bed of straw, pine needles, dried leaves, and branches tamped down with each step, crunching and shuffling as they hurried down the trail. With dryness in the air and underfoot, it was understandable why wildfires consumed acre after acre of fuel-rich woodland. Clay led them through a winding journey seemingly going nowhere but at least they were leaving the fire.
Rick’s instincts to path-through-plan nagged him as he dragged Jessica bouncily down the path like a rag doll lagging slowly behind, hitting saplings and trunks as if a pinball. While they hurried, Rick wondered if this maze was a question with no answer, a puzzle with a missing piece. His bias toward action included favoritism of maps and planned escape routes via radar tracking, so he was as frustrated as he was frightened!
Were they going downward in elevation, or did it just appear to Jessica that the plunge down devil’s throat this time happened in a dry hot land descending into a dark, smoky grave?
(to be continued in Part 8...)
©Mark H. Pillsbury (this work of fiction was composed on 19 July 2011)
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Part VI (fiction ripped from the headlines) The storm-chasers saga...
Thwap
At last, turning onto this back road only made matters worse. The anxiety felt when you miss an important exit, or stall behind a wall of traffic, knowing you will not make the meeting just touches the desperation beginning to set in, even for optimistic Clay.
Thick, smoky air swirled like a heavy dark curtain rolling down over the last night of a performance; the fuel-rich heat seared the moisture out of their eyes as they all reconvened for the last time. Coughing, crying, panicked Jessica held onto Rick’s sleeve as they discussed options. He loved her just then, she rarely showed weakness during their adventures. Rick thought it showed a true care had burrowed into his aching heart, despondent as it was that he could not give her comfort.
“We are so lost, Clay! What good is this doing?!” Rick pleaded. “I got no connections over any of my devices, no GPS, no clue where this wildfire will turn!” He continued, “I got nothing, man, how boutchu?”
Clay shrugged. “What the hell do you do when you get trapped by a twister?”
“We don’t!” Rick barked. “We usually run a lot faster the opposite direction! There’s a way to know which way to run--it’s called radar?!” He was frustrated by the helplessness. Just then they heard a tall pine crack and crash to the ground. It was an ominous punctuating scream from the forest’s death throes. The hot shear blew at them like an oven opened, but as if they were sticking their heads inside.
Feeling that reversing their path would only complicate their position, for just a moment they stood together as they would at the tee box of a round of golf looking down the verdant first fairway full of hope. Instead, they contemplated their dangerous location in the middle of this hot cauldron of fire. No one admitted it, but this was the point where these friends reached the end of themselves.
Clay did nothing more than drop his head. He silently prayed that his Lord would deliver him from this fiery trap, and that he would be given the ability to persevere and not give up hope; he even gave thanks that his hope was not in this world but it resided in heaven. Clay kept faith that this was not the end, although he was out of ideas for rescue.
photo credit: Chris Carlson, NCDFR
Thwap, thwap, thwap. They lifted their heads to the heavens and saw a beacon of hope. Thwap, thwap, thwap beat rhythmically over the horizon as the Sikorsky helicopter flew closer to the worst portion of the fire wall. The pilot watched his instrument panel, but the storm-chasers looked up with amazement.
“Lord have mercy,” Clay exclaimed with a chuckle. With a mind cleared by hope, Rick leaped to the back of the Tahoe, where he dug into the wheel-well. He remembered that he picked up once a complimentary flare-pack at an extreme weather convention. Finding it immediately dusty and dirty from neglect along with the spare tire, he ripped the pair open eagerly while trying to read the symbol directives for operation. “Maybe someone will know we are down here!” Jessica gasped.
photo credit: Red Cross
At a nearby fenceline, the raging inferno came out from behind the trees like a robber, finally playing his hand. It was as if all societal boundaries had been breached and the devil was welcoming them to his party. They felt so exposed, insecure, helpless, even weak like children, facing this wall of flames; Jessica fell in behind Rick and wrapped her arms tight around his torso, peaking out around his wide shoulders.
Unfortunately, road flares only sparkle on the ground, not able to shoot directly at the helicopter. After its first pass the huge ship flew out of sight and no longer cut the air with such whipping force. Clay thought of the old saying in Ecclesiastes, “there is a time to live, and there is a time to die.” They did not know which one it would be.
photo credit: WSPA
(...to be continued in Part VII)
©Mark H. Pillsbury (17 July 2011)
[this is a work of fiction, any similarities to other works of fiction, TV, or film, are purely coincidental]
At last, turning onto this back road only made matters worse. The anxiety felt when you miss an important exit, or stall behind a wall of traffic, knowing you will not make the meeting just touches the desperation beginning to set in, even for optimistic Clay.
Thick, smoky air swirled like a heavy dark curtain rolling down over the last night of a performance; the fuel-rich heat seared the moisture out of their eyes as they all reconvened for the last time. Coughing, crying, panicked Jessica held onto Rick’s sleeve as they discussed options. He loved her just then, she rarely showed weakness during their adventures. Rick thought it showed a true care had burrowed into his aching heart, despondent as it was that he could not give her comfort.
“We are so lost, Clay! What good is this doing?!” Rick pleaded. “I got no connections over any of my devices, no GPS, no clue where this wildfire will turn!” He continued, “I got nothing, man, how boutchu?”
Clay shrugged. “What the hell do you do when you get trapped by a twister?”
“We don’t!” Rick barked. “We usually run a lot faster the opposite direction! There’s a way to know which way to run--it’s called radar?!” He was frustrated by the helplessness. Just then they heard a tall pine crack and crash to the ground. It was an ominous punctuating scream from the forest’s death throes. The hot shear blew at them like an oven opened, but as if they were sticking their heads inside.
Feeling that reversing their path would only complicate their position, for just a moment they stood together as they would at the tee box of a round of golf looking down the verdant first fairway full of hope. Instead, they contemplated their dangerous location in the middle of this hot cauldron of fire. No one admitted it, but this was the point where these friends reached the end of themselves.
Clay did nothing more than drop his head. He silently prayed that his Lord would deliver him from this fiery trap, and that he would be given the ability to persevere and not give up hope; he even gave thanks that his hope was not in this world but it resided in heaven. Clay kept faith that this was not the end, although he was out of ideas for rescue.
Thwap, thwap, thwap. They lifted their heads to the heavens and saw a beacon of hope. Thwap, thwap, thwap beat rhythmically over the horizon as the Sikorsky helicopter flew closer to the worst portion of the fire wall. The pilot watched his instrument panel, but the storm-chasers looked up with amazement.
“Lord have mercy,” Clay exclaimed with a chuckle. With a mind cleared by hope, Rick leaped to the back of the Tahoe, where he dug into the wheel-well. He remembered that he picked up once a complimentary flare-pack at an extreme weather convention. Finding it immediately dusty and dirty from neglect along with the spare tire, he ripped the pair open eagerly while trying to read the symbol directives for operation. “Maybe someone will know we are down here!” Jessica gasped.
At a nearby fenceline, the raging inferno came out from behind the trees like a robber, finally playing his hand. It was as if all societal boundaries had been breached and the devil was welcoming them to his party. They felt so exposed, insecure, helpless, even weak like children, facing this wall of flames; Jessica fell in behind Rick and wrapped her arms tight around his torso, peaking out around his wide shoulders.
Unfortunately, road flares only sparkle on the ground, not able to shoot directly at the helicopter. After its first pass the huge ship flew out of sight and no longer cut the air with such whipping force. Clay thought of the old saying in Ecclesiastes, “there is a time to live, and there is a time to die.” They did not know which one it would be.
(...to be continued in Part VII)
©Mark H. Pillsbury (17 July 2011)
[this is a work of fiction, any similarities to other works of fiction, TV, or film, are purely coincidental]
Thursday, July 14, 2011
The Creator's Tool (Part 5)
The Creator’s Tool (Part 5 of the storm-chaser saga):
Nature uses colossal mega-fires of great size and strength to drive biodiversity, but these behemoths also create dangerous winds and micro-bursts just like thunderstorms. The storm-chasers typically would be in control and excited about this phenomena, however today circumstances dictate they run rather than pursue.
Technologically “out-gunned” and blind to satellite imagery showing the progression of the heat, the progression of the fire, the magnitude of the blaze; the storm-chasers and their friend travel a road to nowhere, unless they make the right turn.
“My phone is not helping us, Rick,” Jessica complained about coverage but at least she had battery power; his was dead. “As soon as I get a bar of reception, I am going to call the sheriff or someone around here. The look of the sky has me worried!”
“You guys just stay on my tail; I think we need to go down to the bottom where this road intersects that one, and take a right,” Clay pointed, commanding. “We just need to get out of this area and we’ll be fine; don’t get all freaked on me.” Unlike Clay, Rick had nausea in his gut because he was not in control. This was a weather war he was losing, and he felt it deeply.
photo credit: Georgia
Firefighters extinguish 95% of wildfires each year before they get out of control, indeed only weather changes really affect the giant fires like those in Texas. Smoke sometimes billows up, making pyrocumulus clouds 40,000 feet high, reaching into the troposphere/stratosphere. Some experts contend that the ecological transformation due to huge wildfires is actually a good thing.
image: AP
The bright red, orange line of flames encircling Rick, Jessica, and Clay did the real snap, crackle, and pop that early morning in Liberty County. Smoke and heat seeped closer to their crossroads, reminding them of the gravity of their situation. This was not so much a natural disaster as a human disaster during an extreme natural disturbance.
After a few more zig-zags through the web of country roads, they started to become disoriented. Each turn in the maze routed them closer to disaster, as they generally moved westward into the worst section of the wildfire; by now engulfing hundreds of thousands of acres. Fire season in southwestern United States lasts 61% longer today than 25 years ago, and unfortunately 8-million more homes have been built in fire zones since 1970. This is sure to be a 10 million-acre fire season, Texas hit as hard as any state.
Stopping later on the shoulder of a farm-to-market road, the crew decided they were lost. “Gotta tell ya Rick, I don’t feel like we're going in the right direction, do you?” Jessica was closing down.
“It just keeps getting worse,” Rick answered back. “But I don’t know where to go either, I’m usually able to pull up something on my up-link, but we aren’t able to boot it right now. The way the winds swirl, I've no way to know which direction this is coming from! It feels like the heat is bearing down from all directions!” Rick said in anguish, “what the ?$#! should we do?” He asked the smoky sky.
(to be continued in Part VI... fiction ripped from the headlines)
©Mark H. Pillsbury (this is a work of fiction, any similarity to real or created characters of other type, either in print, TV or film, is merely a coincidence,
14 July 2011)
Nature uses colossal mega-fires of great size and strength to drive biodiversity, but these behemoths also create dangerous winds and micro-bursts just like thunderstorms. The storm-chasers typically would be in control and excited about this phenomena, however today circumstances dictate they run rather than pursue.
Technologically “out-gunned” and blind to satellite imagery showing the progression of the heat, the progression of the fire, the magnitude of the blaze; the storm-chasers and their friend travel a road to nowhere, unless they make the right turn.
“My phone is not helping us, Rick,” Jessica complained about coverage but at least she had battery power; his was dead. “As soon as I get a bar of reception, I am going to call the sheriff or someone around here. The look of the sky has me worried!”
“You guys just stay on my tail; I think we need to go down to the bottom where this road intersects that one, and take a right,” Clay pointed, commanding. “We just need to get out of this area and we’ll be fine; don’t get all freaked on me.” Unlike Clay, Rick had nausea in his gut because he was not in control. This was a weather war he was losing, and he felt it deeply.
Firefighters extinguish 95% of wildfires each year before they get out of control, indeed only weather changes really affect the giant fires like those in Texas. Smoke sometimes billows up, making pyrocumulus clouds 40,000 feet high, reaching into the troposphere/stratosphere. Some experts contend that the ecological transformation due to huge wildfires is actually a good thing.
The bright red, orange line of flames encircling Rick, Jessica, and Clay did the real snap, crackle, and pop that early morning in Liberty County. Smoke and heat seeped closer to their crossroads, reminding them of the gravity of their situation. This was not so much a natural disaster as a human disaster during an extreme natural disturbance.
After a few more zig-zags through the web of country roads, they started to become disoriented. Each turn in the maze routed them closer to disaster, as they generally moved westward into the worst section of the wildfire; by now engulfing hundreds of thousands of acres. Fire season in southwestern United States lasts 61% longer today than 25 years ago, and unfortunately 8-million more homes have been built in fire zones since 1970. This is sure to be a 10 million-acre fire season, Texas hit as hard as any state.
Stopping later on the shoulder of a farm-to-market road, the crew decided they were lost. “Gotta tell ya Rick, I don’t feel like we're going in the right direction, do you?” Jessica was closing down.
“It just keeps getting worse,” Rick answered back. “But I don’t know where to go either, I’m usually able to pull up something on my up-link, but we aren’t able to boot it right now. The way the winds swirl, I've no way to know which direction this is coming from! It feels like the heat is bearing down from all directions!” Rick said in anguish, “what the ?$#! should we do?” He asked the smoky sky.
(to be continued in Part VI... fiction ripped from the headlines)
©Mark H. Pillsbury (this is a work of fiction, any similarity to real or created characters of other type, either in print, TV or film, is merely a coincidence,
14 July 2011)
Sunday, July 10, 2011
How hard is Death... Part 4 of the storm-chaser saga...
"But for the turn of that wheel just in time there would have been another case of a 'missing' ship."
"Nobody ever comes back from a "missing" ship to tell how hard was the death of the craft, and how sudden and overwhelming the last anguish of her men."
"Nobody can say with what thoughts, with what regrets, with what words on their lips they died. But there is something fine in the sudden passing away of these hearts from the extremity of struggle and stress and tremendous uproar—from the vast, unrestful rage of the surface to the profound peace of the depths, sleeping untroubled since the beginning of ages." [from "The Mirror of the Sea" by Joseph Conrad (Harper & Bros. 1906), page 101]Decision-making happens along points in time: planning, policies, procedures, precedence, preparation, priorities, programs mean nothing when the urgency of a decision dominates the moment.
With lip service to these systems we hold dear; it is emotion, instinct, intuition, and common sense that often rise up as influencers of whether we move one way or another.
Gathering data like a sponge, comparing it with what has gone before, weighing the costs of one direction with the benefits of another; one cannot know the thinking of decision-makers, we cannot know the games playing in their head.
Assuming that reason, fairness, honesty, objectivity, rational experience, and logic plays into decision-making seems comforting, yet it is no more predictable than the course of a tornado. And if God controls the universe, our galaxy, this solar system and all its inhabitants; then who can know what paths to take?
With momentary inputs we do the best we can, hoping others operate similarly; or even better, actually implement the strategies they worked so hard to devise. Training becomes routine, routine becomes habit, habit roots deep in our brain’s conduits and eventually becomes almost automatic behavior during a regular 12-hour day. This turns into a pretty good life.
Nevertheless, at this crucial point, these junctures seem the same as daily, mundane decisions. For Clay, Rick & Jessica, danger and opportunity meet on a dusty road in Liberty County, Texas. 30-foot high flames roar to life, demanding attention. These young friends peer down the path and discuss quickly what to do next, the heat rising around them. Time, fear, and asphalt roadway limits their ability to operate methodically, with the luxury of balanced discussion. This is a crisis, and the hunters seem now to be the hunted.
(to be continued in Part 5...)
Fiction ripped from the headlines… ©Mark H. Pillsbury (2011)
photo credit, http://vi.sualize.us
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Texas wildfires: the escape (fiction ripped from the headlines)
Part 3: The Escape
Ironically, Gregg Allman’s sad dirge, “Midnight Rider” played on Sirius/XM® radio as Rick cranked the Tahoe’s ignition. “Outlaw Country,” Station 332 suited him fine as they wove their way through east Texas to find the ranch.
The lyrics, “I’m not gonna let ‘em catch me no/not gonna let ‘em catch the Midnight Rider,” inspired no confidence as both the weather wunderkinds focused on the red tail-lights of Clay’s truck which sped out the front gate kicking up a blinding dust cloud all the way onto the road, away from the wall of fire.
Nature’s fury has myriad forms, whether 100-feet below the ocean as a rushing current or approaching a massive tornado; Rick and Jessica knew intimately the harm that can come from the physical world in a matter of seconds. Even recognizing how fragile one holds to human life, like everyone they rarely feared imminent death; although frequently exposed to it. Nevertheless, today on a rural road in Texas, they finally took a right-turn which turned out to be a dead-end.
“C’mon Rick; catch up!” cried Jessica.
“Babe, look at the computer, and let me drive,” replied Rick, intently. “See if there is something to tell us where these fires are!” They fled at high-speed but their bandwidth for internet was dial-up slow.
After zooming down hilly back roads straining the capacity of the Tahoe, clinging to the contrails of Clay’s truck; they swooshed up-and-over a rise in the road finding him pulled over on the shoulder, brake lights glowing devilishly red through a cloud, like evil eyes. Rick didn’t know how far they'd travelled, only that they sped generally in a southeast direction. Both jumped out, approaching the driver’s side of the pickup.
“Can you see down toward the bottom of that next clearing?” Clay said as he looked forward through the windshield, not exactly asking a question, “I see flames and smoke rising above those trees?! Izat what you see?!”
“Could there be another T-intersection down there before we hit the wall?” Rick responded with panic in his voice, almost a shout; squinting a look down the path, silently agreeing with Clay’s observation.
“Can we at least try 9-1-1?” Jessica pleaded, “Maybe they could bear down on our GPS; tell us which way to turn?”
This turning point hinges on the decisions they make in the next two minutes; however each of the drivers eagerly wanted to get back behind the wheel, with itchy pedal-feet like a gunfighter fingering a holster. The traditional Chinese character for crisis (wēijī), widely abused by western motivational speakers, allegedly means the intersection of danger + opportunity. Danger is there alright, but the secondary word is more of “crucial point,” than opportunity. Crisis visits these young people through dark, hot, encircling flames, and no real exit strategy. As hard as it was to fathom, they are lost on an obscure back road in rural Texas without a credible opportunity for escape. This is the most crucial point in their young lives.
To be continued in Part 4....
©Mark H. Pillsbury (6 July 2011):
This is a work of fiction, and similarities to real individuals or other copyrighted material on cable TV or satellite radio is merely a coincidence
Monday, July 4, 2011
Baseball, hot dogs, and 4th of July
Houston Sports Review (July 4th)
This is a sports town. Houstonians' love for its teams runs deep; from luv ‘ya Blue in the 80s to back-to-back Rocket world championships in the 90s. The Astros found the finals last time, appearing in the 2005 World Series; however the teams, like the state are surviving a prolonged drought. I moved to Houston when the Texans opened their franchise in 2002, so I especially pull for them, yet mediocrity plagues the club a decade later. The current state of sports in Houston is as malevolent as the weather. Both Rice and UofH fail to add a much needed intercollegiate spark.
The Astros, just taken off the sales block, are far enough from .500 they reside in another zip code. The Texans never reach their potential, their affable coach unable to rouse the winning tradition of Oilers football last inspired by Bum Phillips, when he said, "Dallas Cowboys may be America's team, but the Houston Oilers are Texas' team." The Rockets invest their global dreams in the broken-down feet of a gentle giant, Yao Ming; who is great as a “branding” icon, but cannot play enough games to impact the western division.
Few major cities watch such disarray in the professional ranks. Sports venues, updated in the 90s, provide modern environments for the spectators here, with posh luxury boxes and air-conditioned comfort in which to observe lackadaisical play. Fewer fans commit to pay the heavy ticket prices in exchange for continual disappointment, because entertainment dollars are scarce even in an economy fueled by windfall energy profits. Besides, what is there to “cheer” for?!
Professional sports run like a business, however, they exist in the public sphere. Right now, labor struggles between employees and management obscure the customer service fans deserve. Greed, power, leverage, collective bargaining, and timing cause bigger issues to rise above general concern for fan feedback. Otherwise, the NFL would be readying for camp, and the NBA would not be changing the locks on their players’ lockers.
Baseball has settled its labor strife, recovering from their [PED] scandal, but still has a glaring problem with one of its most esteemed franchises the LA Dodgers, formerly of Brooklyn. Allowing Frank McCourt to leverage most of the $430 mil. purchase price in 2004 in order to become a member of the exclusive owner club might have been typical of the debt bubble wall street just foisted on financial institutions; however, now seems to be one of the worst management decisions in the league’s long history.
Having the storied Dodgers in bankruptcy court is the sad opposite of the pride brought to this country when the Dodgers’ Branch Rickey broke the MLB color-line by promoting Jackie Robinson to the big league club in 1947. It was a move that Jackie personified when he often “stole-home,” streaking toward the prize with reckless abandon, not worrying about the consequences of such risk. Trouble is, Frank McCourt is no Jackie Robinson.
photo credit: R. Morse
This is a sports town. Houstonians' love for its teams runs deep; from luv ‘ya Blue in the 80s to back-to-back Rocket world championships in the 90s. The Astros found the finals last time, appearing in the 2005 World Series; however the teams, like the state are surviving a prolonged drought. I moved to Houston when the Texans opened their franchise in 2002, so I especially pull for them, yet mediocrity plagues the club a decade later. The current state of sports in Houston is as malevolent as the weather. Both Rice and UofH fail to add a much needed intercollegiate spark.
The Astros, just taken off the sales block, are far enough from .500 they reside in another zip code. The Texans never reach their potential, their affable coach unable to rouse the winning tradition of Oilers football last inspired by Bum Phillips, when he said, "Dallas Cowboys may be America's team, but the Houston Oilers are Texas' team." The Rockets invest their global dreams in the broken-down feet of a gentle giant, Yao Ming; who is great as a “branding” icon, but cannot play enough games to impact the western division.
Few major cities watch such disarray in the professional ranks. Sports venues, updated in the 90s, provide modern environments for the spectators here, with posh luxury boxes and air-conditioned comfort in which to observe lackadaisical play. Fewer fans commit to pay the heavy ticket prices in exchange for continual disappointment, because entertainment dollars are scarce even in an economy fueled by windfall energy profits. Besides, what is there to “cheer” for?!
Professional sports run like a business, however, they exist in the public sphere. Right now, labor struggles between employees and management obscure the customer service fans deserve. Greed, power, leverage, collective bargaining, and timing cause bigger issues to rise above general concern for fan feedback. Otherwise, the NFL would be readying for camp, and the NBA would not be changing the locks on their players’ lockers.
Baseball has settled its labor strife, recovering from their [PED] scandal, but still has a glaring problem with one of its most esteemed franchises the LA Dodgers, formerly of Brooklyn. Allowing Frank McCourt to leverage most of the $430 mil. purchase price in 2004 in order to become a member of the exclusive owner club might have been typical of the debt bubble wall street just foisted on financial institutions; however, now seems to be one of the worst management decisions in the league’s long history.
Having the storied Dodgers in bankruptcy court is the sad opposite of the pride brought to this country when the Dodgers’ Branch Rickey broke the MLB color-line by promoting Jackie Robinson to the big league club in 1947. It was a move that Jackie personified when he often “stole-home,” streaking toward the prize with reckless abandon, not worrying about the consequences of such risk. Trouble is, Frank McCourt is no Jackie Robinson.
photo credit: R. Morse
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Fire and Rain: fiction ripped from the headlines
Audubon Magazine
Part Two: fiction ripped from the headlines...
The Fire Pounces
Rick felt at home in someone else’s bed, often he slept in the Tahoe. It was a pleasure to be unplugged and free to sleep-in, surprisingly he was dreaming about Mexico.
image credit: Mike Hollingshead, Eric Nguyen
Storm chasing was a young person’s game; it took the commitment of a professional athlete, constantly on the road, the pressure to sink the big shot, the same highs and lows of victory and defeat. An integral part of storm chasing was waiting, supplanted by quick bursts of energy and adrenaline. He loved it more than Jessica, but they both slept happily, peacefully for the first time in days. Dreamland was a bucolic scene that early morning in Texas, yet outside, roiled a fire as wild as any super-cell ever hunted, bearing down on the beautiful couple.
“Jess, get up!” Rick shook his partner. “Get up, I smell smoke.”
She was groggy, “Smoke?” Jessica was confused. “Is your phone on?” She asked.
He fumbled through his backpack; it was dead. “I think my battery is done! Damnit, all my stuff is out in the truck,” Rick responded. They were uneasy with the lingering smell of burning brush wafting through the house.
The rush to the Tahoe gave Rick no assurances, the smell of smoke was heavier, and as dawn broke there was a red glow on the horizon. Darkness cloaked the pyrocumulus cloud forming above. Jessica was already headed up the ranch road in flip-flops, Rick followed her, still waking up.
image: Garganta del diablo en Cozumel
Rick remembered “Devil’s Throat,” off the coast of Cozumel: Jessica was the first diver through the long coral tunnel over 100-feet below the surface, and heading up the ranch road seemed eerily similar; smoke formed a tunnel and at the entrance to the ranch where the trees opened into a clearing, they could see the wall of flames in the distance.
Over a million acres of dry trees fueled a “mega-fire” which burned at frightening temperatures, spawning fire-whirls spinning off tornadic winds of 80 mhp. The only hope to stop such destruction was a change in the weather; the inferno was out of control.
The smart phone interrupted. Jessica’s expensive weather app delivered three ominous chimes. Each was a warning from the previous night about wild fires raging through Texas. They could see darkness, which was the tree line in the distance, but leaping mirthfully from the tops, red sheets of fire snapped like firecrackers. Instinct dominated what happened next. Rick pivoted like a point-guard, back to the Tahoe, grabbing the laptop computer on his way to the house.
Amazingly, Clay was still asleep snoring like a black Labrador, blissfully ignorant. Jessica watched over Rick’s shoulder as he looked up coverage warning maps, reading NWS updates. During their sabbatical, wild fires encircled Liberty County; Clay seemed so surprised and sleepy they could have been showing him a foreign newspaper.
Rick and Clay shuttled back outside, as Jessica studied the laptop. “What in the hell is going on, Rick?” Clay asks.
“Can you see the shooting flames above the tree line, Clay?” Rick shot back, “I think we need to get outta here.”
They both internally inventoried their emotions at the moment, recognizing regret, ignorance, terror, flight, confusion, curiosity, and urgency, all competing for bandwidth inside the central processing unit known as their hung-over brains. “I knew there were some wild fires around Texas, but I gotta tell ‘ya Rick, this caught me off-guard, and it looks a whole lot closer than I would like! There’s just a coupla ways off this ranch and the county roads are hard to navigate,” Clay responded to the ominous wall of flame at which they both stared.
“Alright.” Rick wasn't quite listening, planning another quick exit, almost instantaneously assuming command. “Load your truck.” He said, wheeling again toward the house.
“I'll get Jess,” he was running back down the road.
“We’re burnin daylight!” Clay was one step behind, but he caught the irony of the last statement.
Photo credit: AP
##
(to be continued in Part 3)
©Mark H. Pillsbury
Part Two: fiction ripped from the headlines...
The Fire Pounces
Rick felt at home in someone else’s bed, often he slept in the Tahoe. It was a pleasure to be unplugged and free to sleep-in, surprisingly he was dreaming about Mexico.
Storm chasing was a young person’s game; it took the commitment of a professional athlete, constantly on the road, the pressure to sink the big shot, the same highs and lows of victory and defeat. An integral part of storm chasing was waiting, supplanted by quick bursts of energy and adrenaline. He loved it more than Jessica, but they both slept happily, peacefully for the first time in days. Dreamland was a bucolic scene that early morning in Texas, yet outside, roiled a fire as wild as any super-cell ever hunted, bearing down on the beautiful couple.
“Jess, get up!” Rick shook his partner. “Get up, I smell smoke.”
She was groggy, “Smoke?” Jessica was confused. “Is your phone on?” She asked.
He fumbled through his backpack; it was dead. “I think my battery is done! Damnit, all my stuff is out in the truck,” Rick responded. They were uneasy with the lingering smell of burning brush wafting through the house.
The rush to the Tahoe gave Rick no assurances, the smell of smoke was heavier, and as dawn broke there was a red glow on the horizon. Darkness cloaked the pyrocumulus cloud forming above. Jessica was already headed up the ranch road in flip-flops, Rick followed her, still waking up.
Rick remembered “Devil’s Throat,” off the coast of Cozumel: Jessica was the first diver through the long coral tunnel over 100-feet below the surface, and heading up the ranch road seemed eerily similar; smoke formed a tunnel and at the entrance to the ranch where the trees opened into a clearing, they could see the wall of flames in the distance.
Over a million acres of dry trees fueled a “mega-fire” which burned at frightening temperatures, spawning fire-whirls spinning off tornadic winds of 80 mhp. The only hope to stop such destruction was a change in the weather; the inferno was out of control.
The smart phone interrupted. Jessica’s expensive weather app delivered three ominous chimes. Each was a warning from the previous night about wild fires raging through Texas. They could see darkness, which was the tree line in the distance, but leaping mirthfully from the tops, red sheets of fire snapped like firecrackers. Instinct dominated what happened next. Rick pivoted like a point-guard, back to the Tahoe, grabbing the laptop computer on his way to the house.
Amazingly, Clay was still asleep snoring like a black Labrador, blissfully ignorant. Jessica watched over Rick’s shoulder as he looked up coverage warning maps, reading NWS updates. During their sabbatical, wild fires encircled Liberty County; Clay seemed so surprised and sleepy they could have been showing him a foreign newspaper.
Rick and Clay shuttled back outside, as Jessica studied the laptop. “What in the hell is going on, Rick?” Clay asks.
“Can you see the shooting flames above the tree line, Clay?” Rick shot back, “I think we need to get outta here.”
They both internally inventoried their emotions at the moment, recognizing regret, ignorance, terror, flight, confusion, curiosity, and urgency, all competing for bandwidth inside the central processing unit known as their hung-over brains. “I knew there were some wild fires around Texas, but I gotta tell ‘ya Rick, this caught me off-guard, and it looks a whole lot closer than I would like! There’s just a coupla ways off this ranch and the county roads are hard to navigate,” Clay responded to the ominous wall of flame at which they both stared.
“Alright.” Rick wasn't quite listening, planning another quick exit, almost instantaneously assuming command. “Load your truck.” He said, wheeling again toward the house.
“I'll get Jess,” he was running back down the road.
“We’re burnin daylight!” Clay was one step behind, but he caught the irony of the last statement.
Photo credit: AP
##
(to be continued in Part 3)
©Mark H. Pillsbury
Friday, July 1, 2011
Breathe now.
I think a lot while driving on Houston’s freeways. I don’t know why they’re called “free,” because many require tolls and the crowded chaos of these roads leads to distraction.
Driving and thinking is multi-tasking. Frequently the debris will wake you up as it flies by the windshield, or as it happened today, one gets stuck directly behind a huge bright orange trash-compacting dump-truck (Aggressive Waste Disposal/only in Houston Texas).
The smell was exquisitely rancid, putrid, and malodorously sweet! It perfectly accompanied the pounding percussion of Larry Mullen Jr. during the U2 song, “Breathe.” (see below)
Bono’s lyrics remind me that I have a love you cannot defeat. They rumbled in my head as I contemplated a meeting I just had with a young friend worried about the next step in his career. We don’t know each other very well, why would he listen to me? My mind races like loose electricity: did I make any sense, did I talk too much, not enough, how will he see that there’s nothing I have that he needs? All of us were made uniquely and must find our purpose, but ultimately “I found grace, it’s all that I found, and I can breathe. Breathe now.”
Lyrics ©U2 from No Line on the Horizon (Interscope 2009):
16th June, 9:05, door bell rings.
Man at the door says if I want to stay alive a bit longer
There's a few things I need you to know. Three!
Coming from a long line of traveling salesman on my mother's side
I wasn't gonna buy just anyone's cock-a-too;
So why would I invite a complete stranger into my home?
Would you?
These days are better than that; These days are better than that
Every day I die again, and again I'm reborn
Every day I have to find the courage
To walk out into the street, with arms out
Got a love you can't defeat
Neither down or out
There's nothing you have that I need
I can breathe. Breathe now
16th June, Chinese stocks are going up
And I'm coming down with some new Asian virus
Ju-Ju man, Ju-Ju man!
Doc says you're fine, or dying (Please?!)
9:09, St. John Divine, on the line, my pulse is fine:
But I'm running down the road like, Loose Electricity
While the band in my head plays a striptease.
The roar that lies on the other side of silence,
The forest fire is fear so deny it
Walk out into the street
Sing your heart out
The people we meet
Will not be drowned out
There's nothing you have that I need
I can breathe. Breathe now
We are people borne of sound, the songs are in our eyes
Gonna wear them like a crown.
Walk out, into the sunburst street, sing your heart out, sing my heart out
I've found grace inside a sound
I found grace, it's all that I found.
And I can breathe.
Breathe now!
Driving and thinking is multi-tasking. Frequently the debris will wake you up as it flies by the windshield, or as it happened today, one gets stuck directly behind a huge bright orange trash-compacting dump-truck (Aggressive Waste Disposal/only in Houston Texas).
The smell was exquisitely rancid, putrid, and malodorously sweet! It perfectly accompanied the pounding percussion of Larry Mullen Jr. during the U2 song, “Breathe.” (see below)
Bono’s lyrics remind me that I have a love you cannot defeat. They rumbled in my head as I contemplated a meeting I just had with a young friend worried about the next step in his career. We don’t know each other very well, why would he listen to me? My mind races like loose electricity: did I make any sense, did I talk too much, not enough, how will he see that there’s nothing I have that he needs? All of us were made uniquely and must find our purpose, but ultimately “I found grace, it’s all that I found, and I can breathe. Breathe now.”
Lyrics ©U2 from No Line on the Horizon (Interscope 2009):
16th June, 9:05, door bell rings.
Man at the door says if I want to stay alive a bit longer
There's a few things I need you to know. Three!
Coming from a long line of traveling salesman on my mother's side
I wasn't gonna buy just anyone's cock-a-too;
So why would I invite a complete stranger into my home?
Would you?
These days are better than that; These days are better than that
Every day I die again, and again I'm reborn
Every day I have to find the courage
To walk out into the street, with arms out
Got a love you can't defeat
Neither down or out
There's nothing you have that I need
I can breathe. Breathe now
16th June, Chinese stocks are going up
And I'm coming down with some new Asian virus
Ju-Ju man, Ju-Ju man!
Doc says you're fine, or dying (Please?!)
9:09, St. John Divine, on the line, my pulse is fine:
But I'm running down the road like, Loose Electricity
While the band in my head plays a striptease.
The roar that lies on the other side of silence,
The forest fire is fear so deny it
Walk out into the street
Sing your heart out
The people we meet
Will not be drowned out
There's nothing you have that I need
I can breathe. Breathe now
We are people borne of sound, the songs are in our eyes
Gonna wear them like a crown.
Walk out, into the sunburst street, sing your heart out, sing my heart out
I've found grace inside a sound
I found grace, it's all that I found.
And I can breathe.
Breathe now!
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