Hell and hallelujah

Twin red flags whipped furiously in the driving rain. The banner corners, frayed by the frantic urgency of the storm, cracked like wet, twisted towels with every wind direction change.

Rangers patrolling the beach on ATVs yelled out warnings to those flirting with rip tides and undertow, cautioning that they would be better off on the beach, than being dragged miles out into open sea. Indignant over having their ocean vacation ruined by draconian and anachronistic rules hampering their holiday enjoyment, they waited for the green-clad enforcers to leave, then jumped back into the churning water. Their rescuers already too far beyond their cries for help to save them when the kraken took hold.

Stumbling from the monster surf with the sodden casualty, the rescuer collapsed to the sand while his comrades expended lifesaving efforts on a hopeless cause.

As ghoulish onlookers crowded around in a snaking semi-circle, macabre commentary of the day’s entertainment made the rounds.

“No umbrellas, no sunglasses.”

“It’s just hell and hallelujah everyday”

In Florida we have a flag system to indicate beach conditions. If deemed dangerous enough, either because of rip tides, strong surf, or marine life (read: sharks), double-red flags fly, and the beach closes. Shore Patrol has authority to ticket anyone violating a double-red warning.

Understandably, DR flags fly before, during and immediately after a hurricane or tropical storm makes landfall. It’s hard to explain just how powerful rip tides are and how deceptively fast you can be dragged out into open water, sometimes miles from shore.

Regardless of how strong a swimmer you are, you can become a drowning victim within minutes.

Here is the portion of this post where I rant…

I don’t care how far you traveled to vacation at the beach. I don’t care how long you’ve lived near the ocean and that you’ve swam in stronger tides when you were a kid.

Your right to enjoy the Gulf ends when you put someone else’s life at risk to pull your sorry ass out of that water because you chose to disregard the law or that no one is going to tell you, you can’t go for a swim. Once you became a potential victim it’s the obligation of the Shore Patrol to make heroic efforts to save you, at risk to their own life and the lives of their fellow patrol members.

The first named storm of 2012, Alberto, formed on May 19, nearly two weeks before the official June 1 start of the Atlantic and Gulf Hurricane season.

Inspired by the Incubus song, “If Not Now, When”
“No umbrellas, no sunglasses, hell and hallelujah everyday“

*The backstory of this post is an excerpt from a post first published on my former site, “If Mom Says OK,” on Sept. 12, 2008, in the wake of Hurricane Ike which made landfall on Sept. 7 in Galveston, TX; updated and edited.

Hot summer daze

Emerald cloisonné hummingbirds, attracted by SPF 30 coconut ambrosia, lullabied their drowsy one-woman audience with white-noise thrumming.

Trickles of sun-warmed sweat pooled in spandex encased cleavage, creating a briny delta commingling with icy, precipitation dripping from a tumbler of potent libation.

A heady perfume of freshly cut Augustine wafted over a barely tall enough decency fence, offering little privacy from adolescent peepers angling for the best vista through weather-warped slats.

Oblivious of the activity surrounding her, she drifted in and out of consciousness long enough to take long sips through her candy-cane striped bendy straw.

The 100 Word Challenge is to tell a story in only 100 words. This week’s theme is ‘Drowsy’

Winning the rat race

Drops of rain lingered on the pine boughs, simmering diamonds among emerald filigree.

A rich, earthy petrichor, created by a pre-dawn shower, sweetened the air. A cooling mist rose from the warm ground, giving the forest an ethereal feel. As she walked down a worn path beneath the interwoven canopy of tree limbs, she expected to stumble upon a fairy ring.

Inhaling the fragrant air, she felt her stress ease out with every breath. All around her, the music of the forest rose in crescendo, drowning out the city noise that had settled in her mind.

Pedantic and sedentary, her friends rejected all offers to join her ambles through the woods. They didn’t appreciate the healing powers of fresh air, and an unhurried pace. They always needed a destination, an itinerary, to feel productive.

She tried to share with them how she found redemption on these trips. That being alone with your thoughts, with no interruptions or distractions, could be very freeing. You have space to actually think. The only worries are having enough bug spray and water. Her friends could never imagine that she developed her best ideas on these hikes.

Maybe it was good that they didn’t come with her. Some invigorating downtime was one thing, winning the corporate rat race, was something all together different. She didn’t need to encourage the competition.

*I have to go out of town later this week, and I didn’t want to miss all the fun, so… I tried to combine a few prompts into one piece. I hope it doesn’t appear too forced, and that I managed to weave all three themes into one flowing fabric.

The Trifecta challenge this week is: Pedantic [adj. \pi-ˈdan-tik\] 3: unimaginative,  pedestrian

Week 21: Inspired by “Petrichor“

This week’s Studio30 Plus prompt is “Redemption“

Sweet as honey

Lies, sweet as honey,
Drip from her sanguine lips.
Lies that loop through your brain
Like a bad love song,
To finally lodge, heavy as a stone,
Underneath your heart,
Cold and immovable.

The Trifextra challenge this weekend is: 33 words, 30 of your own and three of the following: topple, paradigm, underneath, nerve, honey and/or loop

Going to hell in a handbasket

A singing whale, a reluctant vampire, a brilliant fool or an artistic master – all characters with Moore appeal than your average dramatis personae. The best, by far, is BFF Biff’s narrative about the early years of a heavenly prince – Lamb. While condemning an unrepentant thief, I discovered what influenced the message my savior gave his life preaching.

Prompt #18: In 57 words or less, tell us about a favorite book or author.

*For three weeks in mid-2006 I served on a federal jury. Over the course of the trial, 15 people spent eight hours a day, five days a week in a courtroom listening to the attorney of a Ponzi scammer tell us why his client wasn’t responsible for the $65 million he unabashedly stole from his elderly investors.

We also had a significant amount of down time in the jury room where we were prohibited from discussing the case. Newspapers were verboten, as was the Internet, which left old-fashioned books for entertainment.

A fellow juror saw me reading a bargain table edition of Christopher Moore’s “Fluke,” and recommended I also read “Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal.”

While “Fluke” was a good read, “Lamb” was laugh-out-loud, snort-soda-out-your-nose hilarious. It is both irreverent and thought-provoking as you’re taken through what happened during Christ’s early life, the missing years not found in the Bible.

As a reluctant believer, I’m not easily offended by religious humor. That Moore was able to treat this premise with both respect and satire won me over as a fan. I have devoured nearly everything he’s written since then, including the only vampire trilogy you’ll ever need to read – “Bloodsucking Fiends,” “You Suck,” and “Bite Me.”

Moore’s most recently published books are “Fool,” a retelling of “King Lear” from his jester’s point of view, and “Sacré Bleu,” a romance-history-mystery involving the Great French Masters. Start with “Lamb,” but any of Moore’s books would be a great summer diversion.

Take a seat

In my mind, I’m still young, still thin, and still agile. In my body, I’m feeling my age.

The simple task of putting away dishes have my joints complaining. I can’t take stairs two at a time any longer, but instead have to pull my old bones up with help from handrails. I’m not reduced to plodding along with a cane, but do need a lift sometimes to get out of a low chair.

It sucks getting older.

It’s not so much the slower pace I have to take that’s bothersome, it’s that loud Rice Krispies crunching that’s most annoying.

The 100 Word Challenge is to tell a story in only 100 words. This week’s theme is ‘Age’

Could be worse

I hoped for something a little more majestic. An eagle or hawk perhaps. If it had to be a shore bird why not a heron or even pelican. Everyone loves pelicans.

Not this. Why did I have to be a seagull this time around. The one bird that is alternately despised as flying vermin or ridiculed as a dimwitted clown.

It’s true… gulls are dumb as rocks and eat almost anything. I can’t subsist on a diet of cold french fries and stale crackers. All the flock wants to do is beg tourists for food and splatter parked cars with guano. They fancy themselves urban artists. That’s just a load of crap.

I’ve got to worry about getting caught in fishing nets or entangled in trash floating in the water. Ralph drowned just yesterday with the plastic rings from a six-pack wrapped around his neck. It was a humiliating death.

And the kids! Damn! I can’t enjoy a little peace and quiet on the beach, digging for mussels, without some maniacal kid chasing after me with a pail. I’m not available for pet adoption, back off brat!

It’s not all bad though.

I do get to fly. Skidding over the ocean at breakneck speeds. I can catch a thermal and ride it for hours. The view from up there is amazing.

The weather’s nice here too, warm pretty much year ‘round. No long flights south. There’s no one trying to shoot me and hang me in their den, or stuff and roast me for a holiday dinner.

I do have all the fresh seafood I want, if fast food isn’t my thing.

It could be worse. I could have come back as a pigeon.

This week’s Studio30 Plus prompt is “frequent flyer,” and/or “engage.”