Every so often, something comes along that is so much bigger than us that all we can do is shake our heads in wonder and wait for it to be over, and then pick up the pieces as best we can. Such is the humbling destructive power of the super storm Sandy, which just struck the eastern seaboard like a sledgehammer. And the ripples (both figuratively and literally speaking) are being felt over a huge swath of the country, including right here in southeastern Wisconsin. We have terrific sustained winds out of the north today between 20 and 30 mph with gusts to 45- and those winds in turn have transformed our own lovely Lake Michigan, so often a beautiful and tranquil pool, into an angry, churning, freezing cold cauldron.
Between voice lessons today I ran outside to take a quick look – and despite the inhospitable gale winds, I found myself standing at the lookout fence, utterly transfixed not only by the sight of those huge waves . . . but almost more transfixed by the thundering sound. I don’t know that I have ever heard the lake sound like this before. It’s an angry, seething sound that makes the lake sound almost like it’s alive…. and like it’s mighty unhappy. I stood at the fence for ten minutes, unable to tear myself away from the sight or from the sound.
And of course, for as awesome as this sight was, the midwest is just getting a glancing blow from the outer fringes of this enormous storm. What must it have looked like, sounded like, felt like, to be directly in its path? I don’t like to think about it, but I can’t help it in this case because I had multiple loved ones bearing the full brunt of this storm – a brother in Philadelphia, a cousin and friends in NYC, a beloved former teacher in Howell, New Jersey …. and, as it turns out, a former voice student in Union Beach, New Jersey- waiting out the storm in a house three blocks from the bay. (He was there because his parents refused to evacuate and he didn’t want them to be alone.) Last night, when I should have been writing the German exam for Vocal Diction and Literature, I instead found myself transfixed both to CNN and to Facebook . . .. the former for the big picture, and the latter to stay in touch with at least some of my loved ones in harm’s way and to know at least something of what they were experiencing. Facebook was a similarly valuable tool when we were struck by the horrific blizzard the winter before last that actually shut down Carthage and forced the cancellation of classes for the first time in a quarter of a century; it was such a blessing to be marooned in one’s home yet not feel isolated. This felt somewhat similar, except that in this case a lot of us were on the outside looking in with mounting concern as conditions worsened across the eastern seaboard. What an awful helplessness most of us felt and continued to feel. (At one point, I wrote to my former voice student on facebook: “I would give anything to be there with you, helping you bail, helping you move furniture, helping you barricade your doors.” Yes, a big part of me was grateful not to be anywhere near Sandy’s savage fury – but an equally big part of me would have willingly transported myself into Mark’s living room at least for awhile, just to be able to do something – anything – besides just worry myself sick.
I’m glad to say that my brother and his family are okay in Philadelphia – without power but doing okay. I have seen facebook posts from my cousin Sara in NYC, so she and her family appear to be fine as well. As for my former student and his family in Union Beach, and my former voice teacher in Howell, I am doing what a lot of you are doing today with your own loved ones- waiting and hoping and praying for some news – and for the news to be good news. And meanwhile, the thundering sound of Sandy continues to reverberate here on the shores of Lake Michigan, thousands of miles from the real heart of the action. If a storm as sprawling as this doesn’t bring us to our knees in awe and humility, nothing will.
pictured above: This is one of the photos I took right next to Carthage’s famous Kissing Rock lookout point, right across the street from Siebert Chapel.