…I hear that sometimes, but I don’t buy into it.  Sure there are big picture aspects that are the same from story to story. You have to get into the detail, though, and remember that while it’s a story to the editors and publishers, it’s people’s lives- and for that brief moment our lives are entwined.

For me, there is always someone I meet, often more than one someone, whose smile or tears leave an indelible mark on my memory. Sometimes I remember their names, other times its just someone I am only able to watch react to the adversity that has befallen them. My time in Galveston and Houston is no different. I will always remember seeing the dozens upon dozens of volunteers forming “bucket lines” to pass out water and ice to those who were in need. They were in need also, but they put their own needs on hold to aid their neighbors. But there are two individuals I will remember most of all.

For her smile and can’t-get-me-down-attitude, I will remember “Miss Robin.” She has a quaint little bed and breakfast in Houston. Robin’s Nest. After being pelted by driving rains and wind blown debris with correspondent Kris Gutierrez, producer Maggie Lineback, and photographers Guy Hernandez and Spencer for the best part of what Ike had to dish out… tired, wet, exhausted, we weaved our way into her neighborhood through downed power lines and trees. There waiting for us she had as comfortable a bed as I’ve ever slept in. Power was on surprisingly, but a man with a chainsaw took care of that.

Dangerous thing, a man with a chainsaw. I’m just glad he didn’t know where the water lines were. I got a nice hot shower. Robin has a German Shepherd. Rudy. He was brought to Houston after Katrina and left behind. Now he watches over Robin and all the guests who nest with her. Robin has the kind of face that that just says “everything’s gonna be alright.”

But then there are tears. Tears of a woman in my sat truck using my phone to call her son. Three days of no contact. Stranded on Galveston Island. I know the emotion she felt talking to her son. I feel it when I talk to my daughters after being away from home.

Galveston is much like a ghost town now in many areas. Downtown in particular. Streets empty with the exception of a power company crew in the distant block. The story is fading from national headlines now. A daily update or two on new death toll numbers or how many homes still remain without power.

There’s a new storm. Wall Street is a mess, remnants of another hurricane having swept through littering the streets with worthless financials. I can’t muster any sympathy for those swallowed by the greed that has flooded “the street.” Some politician says I need to pay more tax so I can feel more patriotic. How idiotic.

I’m headed home now. Back to Atlanta and my family. Won’t see them until tomorrow. I’ll cry when I see my girls. I’ve just been through a hurricane.