It’s cold. Louisiana cold is any temp below 70 degrees. It’s raining. On the way to my doctor’s appointment, Sarah informed me, “It’s overcast today.” When I asked her how she knew that, she told me that she’s psychic. I think she might have a legitimate shot at being a meteorologist. Waiting for Hurricane Katrina, I remember praying for the return of reliable Nash Roberts. Armed with only his grease pencil and a white board, Nash could predict the course of a hurricane with more accuracy than Pinpoint Dopplers that show what square inch of the city might experience a ten-second drizzle.
Amelia, the c-a-t, is on my lap. She does not know that she is a c-a-t which is why I s-p-e-l-l the word. She seems to like me best when I am wearing dark colors which means I’ll leave the house looking like cat carpet. Everything from food to affection is always on Amelia’s terms. Which does make her very much like a teenaged daughter.
I am home today because of Martin Luther King Jr. My students will be reading his “Letter From a Birmingham Jail” soon; a brilliant piece of persuasive writing, especially considering the setting in which he wrote it. Long before I knew I would have a black son-in-law (Sarah corrects me when she hears me tell people about Andrae. She says he is brown, not black.), I treasured King’s words about judging people by the content of their character, not the color of their skin. And years ago, author James Mc Bride wrote that as a young black child he asked his white mother what color God was, and she answered that God was the color of water.
So, now, when I look at rain, maybe God is there.