St. Louis is, I think, about 975 miles (50 McDonalds, 10 KFCs, and 8 Wal-Marts) from Galveston, Texas.  I know this, because we've driven it a number of times, and have flown it many more times.  Once or twice a year we soften a business trip to Houston with a vacation in Galveston, which we love for its faded elegance and Gulf Coast softness.  We really grieved when we saw the pictures of the destruction Hurricane Ike wreaked on it this past Saturday.

And then, on Sunday, Ike hit us.

The winds weren't so bad; lots of downed branches, but no real structural damage.  But the flash floods...!  And it didn't come just from the small creeks, but from the very earth itself.  So much rain in so short a time simply saturated the ground, and there was flooding in many parts of the city.  It receded quickly, but not until it had left up to four feet of water in buildings, washed away cars, and drowned several people. 

In our house, only the lower part of the house flooded, so we got off easy.  But we're still cleaning, sorting, rescuing, tossing, wet-vacuuming, and trying to wash all the clothing and other fabric things that are already beginning to smell sour. But at least I'm not wading through a foot of water anymore (wearing khaki shorts, a khaki Galveston Island t-shirt, and knee-high waterproof boots--and NO, I am not posting those pictures!). 

I am ready for this summer to be over. Good things and bad, but all stressful, filled this summer:  my son's wedding, my grandson's birth and homecoming to our house; my older daughter's near-death (a week on life support), my own cancer scare (nope), and now flood cleanup.  Bring on autumn, and please, Lord, let it be restful!

And while You're at it, Lord... I just read that thousands of people in Galveston and Houston may not have showers or hot food for weeks.  I can understand it; the cleanup there is horrifying, overwhelming. 

I've been reading all your posts; please forgive me for not responding.  I'll be back soon.

Jeremiah David Nolan, born at 9:34 p.m. on Sunday, August 3, 2008.  Jeremiah weighed 7 lbs. 9 ounces, was 19 inches long, has his mother's dark hair and his father's blue eyes, and is, of this writing, still quite annoyed at this whole birth thing.

My son David is getting married tomorrow.  His bride, Sara, is one of those girls who is just luminous in her beauty, from the inside out.  Wherever she stands, there appears to be a sunbeam around her--even in the midst of a storm.

It has been the usual sort of wedding preparation--lots of work, with some impossible-to-foresee complications thrown in at the last minute.  The ceremony is to be held in in the formal garden in Tower Grove Park, a lovely park scattered with brightly-painted, uniquely-built Victorian-era pavilions for picnics, complete with barbecue stands.

Tonight was the rehearsal and dinner.  We all arrived at the park where the wedding is to be held, in a driving rain and thunderstorm, to find the site under four inches of water.  After the minister (whose license plate read "Mr. Rite") ran through the rehearsal, we adjourned to the nearby pavilion--the Carriage House Pavilion--and barbecued in the pouring rain.  By the time we got there, no one could possibly be any wetter, so we relaxed and had a great time.  Andrew, my grandson, made the most of being six years old by joyfully embracing every giant-sized puddle he could find--and sharing the experience by flinging himself lovingly  into the arms of every family member.

But we suspected the rehearsal and BBQ might be a bit damp earlier today, when St. Louis was hit by a cluster of severe thunderstorms all afternoon.  Shoshana, my youngest daughter, had just gone into the kitchen and announced that she was going to bake some brownies for the BBQ when lightning struck our house.   It took out our cable TV, Internet, phone--and oven.   Think it's a sign?