Watching Houston last week was uplifting, inspiring and heart-wrenching. It also brought back moist memories.
It made me wonder how much tears help our eyes to see better . . . to see clearer who we are, what we’re made of, what we’re a part of . . . America!
So I asked Dr. Salama, my eye surgeon, why the tears that had welled up in my eyes watching the abject misery in Texas and the wonderfully selfless heroism of the brave first responders and volunteer rescuers seemed to sooth them.
He explained it’s because my left eye was still dry from the surgery I had and the moisture had relieved the dryness.
He offered me some free lubricant eye drops, but as Houston’s misery continues, I probably won’t need them watching this invincible recover. Then my drenched “Big Easy” New Orleans where I once lived and raised our young family near Lake Pontchartrain was in the same line of Harvey’s ire.
I’m still recuperating from only a week ago having had cataracts removed and a new lens installed in my left eye . . . the last one left to do as I already had my right eye fixed. Yes, I’m at that cataracts stage, or (ugh) age.
Now my both eyes finally see equally and in complete accord and totally nonpartisan. Imagine having the left and right agree.
During the worst of times in Houston last week I tweeted this:
It takes a village to raise a child, a flooded city to raise everyone: black/white; old/young; police/public; healthy/infirm; rich/poor; Christian/Muslim/Jew.
It takes a village to raise a child is a proverb which means that a child is most likely to become a healthy adult if the entire community chips in and takes an active role in contributing to the rearing of the child. And now it takes a community to survive a disaster named Harvey.
The tear jerker events remind me of a happier time in Houston years ago when I was on a book publicity tour with Kathryn Crosby, a client of my PR firm TransMedia Group (www.transmediagroup.com). Bing’s ebullient and beautiful wife and I both appeared on a public television fund raiser there.
Then In nearby Rosenberg Texas, where her daddy was a sheriff, I had 16 mayors present Kathryn with keys to their cities at the annual Czech Fest where she was an honored guest and kolache judge. Under the weight of all those keys suspended from ribbons around her neck, she could hardly raise her head.
I’m sure today she’s rooting for Houston with the same 7-iron will whenever she wanted something, like when she corralled Bing after interviewing him for her college newspaper.
Kathryn is the most loyal Texas gal I know who was used to roping whatever steers she set her sight on. She’d captivate and charm, then brand them with that disarming smile that still glows like embers in the minds of millions of aging Crosby fans now probably coping with cataracts. . . . but still remembering flickering images of those marvelous finales of Bing Crosby Family Christmas Specials
I pray that soon there will be a bright and “White Christmas” for Houston.
Now as I watch Gloria Gaynor singing on Fox & Friends a song directed at the unwelcome flood waters and dedicated to the brave souls helping people rise above them. It’s making me feel that soothing moisture in my eyes as she sings:
Oh, no, not I, I will survive
Long as I know how to love, I know I’ll stay alive
I’ve got my life to live, and all my love to give
And I’ll survive, I, I will survive