Comfort–A Novella-length Post with Photos

From the first time I heard it, I loved the term “comfort food.” Whether it’s healthy or decadent, complicated or simple, comfort food is a universal concept.

When Tim and I made our brief foray back to The Compound after the clogged roads outside the city kept us from evacuating and led us to L&C’s, we were confronted by eerie sights, including cars abandoned on the roadside when they became too hot or too empty to drive. Sprawling, oversized Houston, like L.A., is a car city, and has a mentality that any future disaster preparations should take into account. Families, couples, friends, and acquaintances are not likely to sensibly jam themselves into a single vehicle and take off. If they have the time and means to gas up and load them, people will treat their vehicles like members of the family and as much a part of survival as food, companion animals, photos and mementos, and–among many Texans–guns. I don’t judge the mentality; it is what it is. So I understand why there were too many cars on the road, and I know how difficult it must have been for many drivers to leave their autos defenseless on the shoulders and in the medians, not knowing if they might be blown away, submerged in water, or vandalized. As our gas shortage alleviates, there’ll be a lot of happy owner/car reunions.

It was also eerie to drive down a nearly deserted highway and see every business closed, many of them boarded up. This simply doesn’t happen in the U.S.’s fourth-largest city. Even on the one day of the year when most businesses are closed, Christmas, there are still some restaurants, gas stations, convenience stores, and drugstores that remain open, and the roads have light traffic as people visit friends and relatives or drive through neighborhoods to look at holiday lawn decorations.

Not so on Thursday night. Thus it was startling on our lonely drive when a motorcycle cop passed us. Then another, and another, until we were riding behind a group of about twenty cops. Later, we saw their rendezvous point: the parking lot of a strip center next to the highway, packed full of the cars and motorcycles of police ready to do whatever might be necessary to protect the city and its inhabitants.

By the time we got to The Compound to retrieve those few things that would make our stay in the suburbs more comfortable for everyone–an air mattress, the mattress from the sofa bed, more bottled water–I was feeling unnerved. So when we packed, I put the contents of the freezer into a cooler. At the very least, I thought the house would lose power and the food would be ruined. Based on news reports, the outlying suburbs had a 24-hour window of opportunity to get ready, so I figured we could cook all the food and have it when we lost power.

When we got back and told everyone what we’d seen, including evidence of Houston’s vigilant police force, L’s son told us that the parking lot of a nearby shopping center was the staging site of the National Guard. Weird, but also comforting. I still haven’t watched any news, so I don’t know if the nightmarish exodus has caused reporters to second-guess and blame Houston’s leaders. But from all the evidence I saw and heard, this city was ready to provide post-disaster relief and recovery. And Galveston in particular should be commended–its citizens and its leaders–for clearing the city. I believe those in charge will take some good lessons away from the things that went wrong, and I’m relieved that because Rita spent her somewhat diminished fury elsewhere, they didn’t have to prove all the things they could do right.

Friday, L was up early making sausage and pancakes for all of us. Her son rearranged the freezer so it could hold more ice and food. Everybody found ways to help. A nearby neighbor staying by herself, who has family in Lake Charles, was invited over so she could enjoy some conversation and a plate of food. Dogs and cat were exercised and supervised. (And as I noted before, strangers were willing to let Lazlo the Evacuated Cat have the run of a vacant house.) We monitored the news and played cards. My mother did everyone’s laundry. Tom ran errands, and L’s husband made sure everything was ready for the expected loss of electricity. Tim filled containers and the bathtub with water that could be used for things like flushing the toilets. We watched the hummingbirds and cardinals at the bird feeders. We put away or disassembled things in the yard that could become missiles. We tried to believe this was all happening when the sky was so blue and we hadn’t felt even the hint of a breeze. We answered calls and made calls to anxious family members and friends far away. We took showers and washed our hair in case we lost water later. Tim and I vied with everyone for computer time so we could read our e-mail and post on and read our Live Journals.

And I cooked, because for me, part of the comfort in comfort food is preparing it. When I talked to my brother on the phone and told him what I was cooking, he was ready to join Rita Watch ‘n Wait with us, although non-Southerners might not get it. Collard greens. Fried okra. Black-eyed peas. Field peas with snaps. Squash casserole. L added her corn and peas and cornbread to the menu. We are forever Southern girls, no matter how old we get or where we live. We’ve known each other since we were twelve, and it doesn’t matter that we’ve gone in very different directions in our views on politics and spirituality. We can even easily maneuver around each other in a kitchen: a sign of true friendship.

The wind picked up. The electricity flickered several times but stayed on. Some of us went to bed. The others turned off the TV, tired of seeing the same–sometimes lame, sometimes heartbreaking–stories. We played more cards. We went outside to smoke and watch the trees move and the skies change and turn black. We walked dogs. By 3:30 a.m., we were all in bed. A half-hour later, we lost power, but we slept.

When we woke up, the power was still out. My next-door neighbor called at 7:30 to let us know things were fine at The Compound. We’d lost some tree limbs, but he told us the power was on and the highways were nearly empty. So Tom took Mother to her place first, then he came back and we packed the cars and got the animals ready for their return. As we finished one last game of cards, the electricity came back on. I was glad, because I didn’t want to leave our hosts until we were sure things were normal there.

When we came back, there was a little more traffic, but not much. Some of the abandoned cars were gone. Everything was still closed. Another suburban friend called to say they were still without power. They, too, had tried to evacuate and couldn’t get out of town. Then Rhonda and Lindsey called. Although they live only a few blocks from us, their power was out so they came over. We sat and talked, including comparing our frustrating road tales, for three hours until they had electricity. We were feeling the same things. Enormous relief that Rita had not impacted us in the ways that she originally threatened. Sadness for those who did feel Rita’s wrath. Even more compassion for the suffering Katrina caused, and a greater understanding of the fear and anxiety of our Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama neighbors. Admiration for how well-behaved stranded motorists were, and for how willingly people opened their homes and hands to others. An understanding of the extraordinary circumstances that made Houston’s evacuation a cluster-fuck, and a refusal to cast blame on our mayor, who could only work with the information that was provided him. Discussion of which odd things bring us comfort when we are in trying situations.

Including, for Tim and me, books. As he said in his Live Journal, he retrieved Maupin’s Tales of the City novels to take back with him to the suburbs. Although I didn’t feel like reading, as soon as I did, I grabbed one of my comfort books, Peter McGehee’s Boys Like Us. Peter McGehee had planned a trilogy of books and before he died of AIDS complications in 1991, he’d written that one and Sweetheart, both of which I’ve read many times. They are funny and sad, with solid storytelling and a mix of characters who become friends.

At the NAMES display in D.C. in 1996, I found McGehee’s Quilt panel. Until I did some online research today, I didn’t realize that for twelve years, he was the partner of AIDS activist Doug Wilson. When McGehee died, St. Martin’s editor Martin Denneny offered Doug Wilson the opportunity to finish the third book of the trilogy from McGehee’s notes. Not knowing if Wilson could write, Denneny called it “an act of charity,” but later said that the resulting Labour of Love is a well-written book. Sadly, Wilson also died before the book was published. I ordered it today and hope I like it as much as the others, but in any case, I honor the memories of these two men lost in the ongoing disaster of our time. I never stop wishing that AIDS could be something we talk about in the past–like hurricanes–a disaster that came and went, and even though it cost us far more in human lives than it should have, it showed us the best in ourselves and helped us conquer our worst.

Today, I’m even more grateful for the love and laughter of friends and family. For the generosity of strangers. For the comforts of home and food and routine. And for people who write books, and will go on writing books, to help us explore crazy and wonderful humanity on this unpredictable planet.

Only two days before ominous warnings began about Hurricane Rita, Tim gave our friend Steve a big goodbye hug under beautiful skies.

Mattress on top of cots sent over from friends gave Tom and Becky a cozy bed in L’s dining room.

Taking a well-deserved break from hurricane preparations, Tom read.

Relaxing outside. The sun was shining, but the breeze was starting to pick up. Later, everything was secured, and the hummingbird feeder was taken down. The next day, only minutes after the feeder was put up, the tenacious hummingbirds were back, fighting one another for a drink.

Becky’s Southern cooking.

L taking out a skillet of cornbread (no sugar added!). Notice the blue tape on the windows behind her.

To the west, the skies were still clear and the sun was setting.

Directly overhead, the clouds were rolling in.

Rita darkened our skies long before normal sunset.

Inside, Tim and Becky held their cards close. It was now completely black outside.

The next day, Margot watched Tim load the car from River’s crate (blocking dog escapes but allowing the door to remain open, because we had no power for air conditioning).

Back home, looking up at a broken branch on our redbud tree. Right after I took the picture, hummingbirds visited the feeder that didn’t blow out of the tree.

“They didn’t forget me; I’m home!”

Guinness remembers all the snacks Aunt L gave her and wonders why we can’t spend every weekend in the ‘burbs.