What We Keep, What We Throw Away The rain began that Saturday morning and pounded Nashville all day. It was a driving, insistent rain that drowned out thoughts of anything else, even before the local news preempted programming to report cars stranded on the interstates and residents trapped in their homes by rising waters. My daughter Caroline, with husband Luke, two-year-old Max, and Randolf, the Jack Russell, lived in a neighborhood bordered by a creek that at times rose and mimicked white rapids for a little while. But never had the creek jumped its banks. On this day, it did. One neighbor’s bridge had washed away, Caroline told me in her first call that afternoon. Another neighbor’s back yard was a lake, with water already seeping into the house. If only the rain would stop. Caroline and Luke could still see their yard. They could still drive out to the street. But the rain showed no sign of letting up. In
Stories Mysteries Life