Waiting out the storm...confession.

I have finally come down a little from all of the initial excitement from the first Ya Mama! Review. and the shout out in the Village Voice, both were dizzying and wonderful. And my family and I have decisions to make based on those dizzying wonderful things...

And that is what I wanted to happen; yay show! And my mind is all a flutter and I feel like I'm detoxing or something....

Oh. yeah. That's what it is; there's a hurricane coming.

Hurricanes, are significant to me, having grown up in New Orleans. Especially now that the New Orleans I know is gone, and has been replaced by this new New Orleans that I have not yet had the courage to visit. Honestly. I haven't been back yet. I'm thinking its about time.

But as I talked with my sister today, who is in New York, ironically, and we went down the list of things she should have in the house, I felt as if I were preparing too, and then felt really odd. And unprepared. I wasn't going to the store. I'm once again not there while its happening. I'm held captive by the images from The Weather Channel and CNN.com. I'm waiting.

Waiting for God to show up and show out. Praying and knowing that my family will be protected. And still waiting with bated breath. I am having a physical reaction to this storm and it is surreal and odd. The sun is shining. But, its almost as if I can't see it. I will my mind to be in the reality of the natural surroundings I am in...Aisha calls on skype. The sky in Manhattan was different from the sky in Brooklyn she says. How so, I ask, it looked like a hurricane was coming, oh yeah, I know what that looks like.

I remember what we used to do before the storms. In the calm before the storm. We would walk. Walk along the levee on Haynes Blvd. New Orleans East, 9th ward. Home.

We would smell the ozone in the air, the promise of the wind and rain, lightning and thunder to come. But what we saw was the calm, Lake Pontchatrain, a sheet of gray blue green glass, rimmed with a blue purple black sky. Not a wave not a ripple. Just a piece of glass. Silence. Air so wet you could drink a cup of water just by inhaling. Calm. Palm trees, soon to be bent, gently rustling in the wind, accepting of what was to come.

I force my mind to the present, Aisha is calling me on skype. My sister, who is in New York, with my nephew and brother in law, and my cousin. Yeah, we're good, she says, he's still sleeping from the walk. He wakes up to nurse. My youngest awakens from her nap, comes downstairs, she sees my face and is upset, perhaps sensing my worry. She wants to nurse. She is weaning, so I usually wouldn't this time of day, but I let her needing the comfort of her trust in my ability to comfort her, and my sister and I share a moment, nursing our babies together. So close, yet so far away. She is worried. I am worried. She will perhaps chant tonight. I will, am praying.

I check twitter, someone is calling on Oya and Yemanja. Another calls out to Christ, yet another is completely oblivious to the worry that is gripping half of the country right now and talks about his "haters" I force my mind to the present. I match my breath to my heart beat and intentionally calm both.

Lord. I am worried. I don't want to worry. Christ calmed the storms with a simple phrase; peace be still. All these things will you do and greater, He said. My mind hurtles forward to my maternal grandmother's house. No longer a part of the family, the house I mean, but a part of a distant memory, a little plaque in the china cabinet, "Worry is like a rocking chair, it'll keep you moving, but won't take you anywhere" Breathe. Peace, be still.

My son, 4, runs over, Mom, he says, as his nimble feet never touch the floor for more than a second at a time, I just won this boomerang game, I got all the points! He holds up his hand for a high five and I reciprocate, "Good job, Man!" I say, and give him my best proud mommy smile.

I realize, I've kept them inside all day, because in my mind, its raining. I look out the window and realize that the sun is shining brightly. Breathe. I am having a physical reaction to what is not happening here. As if I am connected to all hurricanes everywhere. This is ridiculous. "Nina, I'm going back to the store. I'm going to get more candles before the close." Okay, I say, be careful.

Breathe. What's that thing I say in the play? Oh yeah, its one of my favorite lines. I think its poetic...

You learn to live with the storms...Peace. Be Still.