The Fire in our Neighborhood

Posted on by
Reply

On Monday of this week, the air was shattered as sirens screamed from eight trucks arriving at the burning house across the street in my neighborhood.  The second story puked black smoke and the air had an acrid, choking odor.  My driveway was completely blocked and, like everyone else within the six block radius, Rebecca and I ventured out to voyeuristically watch the action unfold.  Firefighters—all men in this particular instance— from three different departments worked in unison to put out the fire.  They entered the home in full “battle” gear, replete with oxygen strapped to their backs, and began ripping out the ceiling to shoot foam into what was an apparent electrical fire.  We watched through the window as best we could, although sometimes the smoke covered them from view. 

When the fire was completely out, the soot covered men gathered in a circle and talked.  From a distance, they appeared animated as though they were reenacting their actions. 

The residents of the burned home also gathered in their own sort of huddle…and cried.  In tennis match fashion, my eyes darted back and forth between the two groups, and I was struck by their differences.  But as I watched, a question came to mind. 

Why huddle?  What is it about groups that we seem to need?

The question, while seemingly absurd, may only appear so we fail to examine it.  Groups exist everywhere—in sports, business, worship, recovery and yes, even the Bunko group.  There must be a reason and a benefit.

Research suggests that support from others actually accomplishes two things:  (1) it may make us better—physically and (2) it may help us make decisions.  So, to believe that huddling simply “helps us feel good,” may diminish what actually occurs.  Perhaps huddling in groups offers us the opportunity to share, bolster, encourage, offer hope, mentor, and make better decisions. 

I started thinking about the groups of which I am a part and about how I am in these groups.  Do I listen?  Do I encourage?  Do I bolster? 

Think about it!

The Dog and the Tornado

Posted on by
Reply

 

“I’ll make a deal with you buddy.  You let me sit here through this tornado, and I promise not to bite you!”  This is what some of the staff in Forney imagined a dog to say who unexpectedly decided to ride “shotgun” in a city vehicle.  Today, that dog is my teacher and he/she reminds me of something that should never be forgotten.

Amidst the storm, a City employee left his vehicle door open while he rushed into a building, and then back out, before the tornado struck.  Upon seeing the black funnel loom into view, he sprinted to the car, dove inside, shut the door, and rammed the thing into drive.  Suddenly, and to his right, he was aware of a being who had not been there before:  a large blue-eyed dog staring right at him.  Having neither time nor interest in shooing the dog out, he sped away from the tornado, the dog riding shotgun.  Word is that the employee and the dog spent the rest of the day and night together as he, along with all city employees, responded to the crisis.

The army of tornadoes that tore through north Texas recently wreaked destruction in the Kaufman county city of Forney.  An entire subdivision was destroyed as furniture, cars, pianos, and motorcycles were swept away and left in thousands of tiny pieces.   A grandmother protected her grandchildren by using the bathtub as a fortress.  One Forney staff member bolted from his car for the protection of a building only to look back and see his vehicle lifted up like a toy Matchbox car by the ferocious funnel and pitilessly dumped in a field two hundred yards away.  Miraculously, there were no fatalities.

That evening, I knew what the newscast was going to show.  It’s always the same; homeowners sifting through the rubble looking for photos and precious items passed down from parents or grandparents.  And all who have experienced something like this always utter the same phrase: “things can be replaced.”

City Manager Brian Brooks and HR Director Leigh Corson told me the dog story a few days after the storm and I laughed at the vision of this big ole canine diving into the car and staring at the driver.  I can only imagine that both the driver’s and the dog’s eyes were as wide as saucers.  Perhaps the dog was saying: “what are you waiting for buddy, can’t you see that a tornado is coming?”  Perhaps, like I said up top, he was promising not to bite in exchange for shelter.  But what I really think was going on was something age-old, a need that we humans share with each other, as do dogs; the need to belong with each other, for shelter, for affiliation, for survival:  both physical and emotional.

Today, I’m thinking about expressing my appreciation to those whom I share my private and work life.  I’m sure the City employee was grateful to share a night with a blue-eyed dog.