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Cynique

Into each life some rain must fall.

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Chicago’s western suburbs were hit hard by a deluge of rain this weekend. Lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the rain fell, and fell, and fell.

The fund-raising gala sponsored by the local black heritage museum of which I am a staff member was held at the club house of the race track that borders my town, and I should’ve known after the first race was postponed due to threatening skies, and the horse I bet on in the third race came in last, that I was in for an "erratic" evening. By the time my friend dropped me off at my house, the rain was really coming down, but I wasn’t concerned. It’s not like I hadn’t experienced bad weather before.

Anyhoo, as the night wore on, ensconced in my den, I settled into my usual round-the-clock regimen, an alternating routine of reading, surfing the net and watching cable TV. Later during a trip to the kitchen for a midnight snack, a check of my basement revealed that it had started to flood as the street sewers were apparently backing up. I shrugged. This had happened before with no disastrous results.

Then, suddenly the power failed, and darkness engulfed the entire neighborhood. Not really panicked by the fact that I was cut off from family, not only because both of my daughters were out of town, but because my nearest sons were unreachable due to my cell phone not being charged, I went into emergency mode. Got out my lantern flashlight, turned on my battery-powered radio, relaxed back on my recliner and prepared to make the most of a different way to spend the evening, appreciating what late night radio has to offer, enjoying as I always do, the deep solitude of my own company. >>kiss-kiss<<

Lulled into drowsiness by the muffled sound of rain drumming on my roof, after a while I was aroused by the thumping of footsteps on my back porch. Wondering if I had forgotten to lock my back door, I soon had my answer as I heard it swing open. Who was bursting in my house at 2:AM in the morning?

Trying to decide if I was prepared to give up my money or my life, I soon had my answer. Standing there in the doorway, her hair-style resembling a fright wig, her I-Phone giving off an eerie laser-like beam, was my oldest granddaughter, a big goofy grin on her face, the faint smell of alcohol on her breath. “Are you OK, Nana?” she chirped. “I was just on my way home and decided to check on ya!” She went on to inform that the expressways and main streets and viaducts were all flooded, but that the power was still on in the neighboring town where my daughter lived. She insisted that I come with her, and I finally consented, having second thoughts as the water got deeper and deeper the further we drove. All around us cars were stalling as we followed a stream of them pulling onto the higher grounds of a nearby medical center with lanes leading to an exit where the streets deceptively appeared less flooded.

Continuing our hazardous trek, my granddaughter driving like a mad woman on sidewalks and over peoples’ lawns, we finally ended up at my daughter’s house, where her dog got loose and went for a swim, soon returning when he realized he might drown.

To make a long story short, although I endured some inconvenience, luckily my property sustained no permanent damage, unlike what befell people in some of the other suburbs, - the upscale ones where the more affluent folks reside. These places have been declared disaster areas. Terrible.

And so went my week-end. Now I’m back home, grateful(?) to my namesake, who has always been nutty like me, and whom I love and dearly cherish! If you don’t have a free-spirited granddaughter in your life, you’re missing something. And if you're too old to worry about what happens to you, you might beat the odds.

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