Stormy stories....

It was a dark and stormy night,
And the wind was blowing a gale
and the Captain said to Antonio,
"Antonio tell me a tale."
Thus the tale began...

It was a dark and stormy night,
And the wind was blowing a gale
and the Captain said to Antonio,
"Antonio tell me a tale."

These were the words that would drive my parents nuts, when 5 or 6 of us kids would chant it in the back of the station wagon on a 3-5 hour car trip, depending on the traffic or destination. It became one of the many anthems of my youth.

Tonight I have my siblings voices floating and murmuring through my mind as the wind rushes through the trees and the windows of my house shift with the force of it. The word games and songs we sang and, some we made up, as kids circle in my rested mind, often.

The gusts of howling wind remind me of the rigging of various boats, at various marinas of my life, clanking the halyards left too slack by careless boat owners or by being loosened by abandoned weeks of wind.  Imagine a parking lot full of flag poles being slapped by untended lines and you'll get an idea of the irregular rhythm it makes.

Winds and lines. When you live on a boat the wind shifting will start a new set of lines slapping, creaking, twisting and pulling. Your mind will know, automatically, which sounds are okay and which sounds should alert you to wake up, Right NOW!

Growing up in houses with a revolving door of siblings, friends, extended family and frequent visitors, there were other kinds of winds and storms. As a kid, you'd learn to listen for how many bottles had been emptied, how late the music was still playing loudly, when the voices downstairs pierced the pillow covering your ears as you tried to sleep or the quiet adult conversations that leaked up and over the balconies into the wall-less bedrooms and an infected our minds with stories we weren't supposed to be hearing.

It was a dark and stormy night,
And the wind was blowing a gale
and the Captain said to Antonio,
"Antonio tell me a tale."

We became doctors, nurses, teachers, actors, musicians, and most of all storytellers. When we were still young, we were attracted to drama, adventure and riding out storms; some of our own making and others hazards of the living on the edge. Those were familiar narratives and therefore comfortable. As most, but not all, of us slowly and as late as possible, had children of our own, we turned away from drama and towards new realities. The change away from the familiar can be a storm in itself, only more of a tropical brief shower than a relentless and bitter winter.

My youngest sibling will turn 50 this coming winter. My baby brother: 50. Who'd a thunk it?!
He is in LA  and a sister in the Aleutian Islands, are the ones who have stayed the farthest away, the ones who moved out West and will never move back East. Visits in the summer, yes,  but no more than that.

Being one of 14 kids has it's benefits; the endless references of inherited and transposed knowledge, the shared history and the stages of development along the way. Only two of the 8 original sets of parents have died, and for that we are all thankful. We've evolved within our life times, contributed to each others stories and weathered many storms.

So when the wind howls, I think about how the weather on the West Coast will become our weather here in a few days. I'm wondering what events are happening in LA and Alaska that may be transported in the wind to us on the East Coast.......but I know one thing, it will go something like this:

It was a dark and stormy night,
And the wind was blowing a gale
and the Captain said to Antonio,
"Antonio tell me a tale."
Thus the tale began......

Good night, Sailors/Stormriders/Storytellers, G'night!