Reclining

We are spending time with my mother-in-law this week. Her home is a solace to me and mine. I, unlike many unfortunate souls, love every bit of my mother-in-law. She is such a peaceful presence, such a calming soul that not a thing could shake her cheeriness.

Which is all-the-more evident this trip. My in-laws live on Galveston island, recently devastated by Hurricane Ike. We drove in after dark last night, which I was silently glad for. I was not ready to see the destruction.

I had not realized how important Galveston had become to me. It's a refuge, a place of relaxation and restoration for my family and me. My mother-in-law's home is luxuriant, modern and spacious, just off the west beach. The back patio overlooks their boat slip on the canal, where the kids spend hours cast fishing during spring break and summer family weekends. In light of my mother-in-law's demeanor and the solace of her home, I thought that all the rejuvenation vibes I picked up on our trips to the Galveston coast were centered there.

Until Ike hit, I didn't realize that Galveston had become an important player on my life's stage. It's an old acquaintance, a town lazy with history and funky with offbeat charm, a bit like my favorite Austin in some ways. When the island was evacuated and awaiting to be washed by the forecasted 17-foot storm surge, we said many prayers for mom-in-law's pad. I have a dear friend at church, a realtor aware of property value and the misfortunes that can plague homeowners from time to time, reached out in such a quirky way: She stuck out her pinky finger as a "point of contact" which I took in pinky-swear fashion, while she said, "We agree that there will be no damage -- Ike will not take her place."

And it didn't. There are houses sitting flat on the beach that were once suspended atop stilts, there are crumbled foundations and piles of debris sitting where dunes once rolled. There are houses missing much siding and some decking, but my mother-in-law's home, my resort getaway, is standing relatively unscathed.

What blessings are mine and ours to count!

This isn't to say that there was no damage. They lost a picnic table (probably to the bottom of the canal) and a beer-rator that lived in the garage. Ike also stole their golfcart while it flooded their small yet stylish entryway and ripped out most of their landscaping. But most of the house is as comfortable as it always was; the garden has been replanted, the debris has been removed and life is (at least for us vacationers) seems to be relaxingly normal.

We go into town for dinner this evening. I'm still hesitant what we'll find.

Interestingly, I began thinking what a great episode HGTV's Curb Appeal could produce here after the storm tore up so many facades and front yards, and even lives. I think it would be a great way to let them design like they give a damn (to borrow from a great organization of Architecture for Humanity).

What does it all mean? I'm glad you ask.

What it all comes down to is this: This is not a sleepy old town, but a resilient place where a survivor's spirit resides. Galveston will not only bounce back, but will thrive, surpassing its former self. Galveston will be a knock-out, rising from this setback with a fresh facelift and makeover that will make her thank Ike for pushing her towards a new life. And I will be there, reclining in her shade of solace, rejuvenating my own spirit for its return to my family's crazy life.