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In June of 2004, hurricane Ivan taught me the meaning of “weary.” I am a Floridian and this hurricane devastated the coastal community I lived in. When the wind is gone and the rain stops, it’s time to rebuild. Our home was spared, but the damage had to be repaired. The temperature must have been 100. Humidity 100 percent. The question my husband and I asked ourselves over and over that day was "where do we begin?" First, we needed supplies. My husband is one of those people who insists on being prepared with cash after a storm, and we were. Leaving him sitting on a hot roof, I went in search of a tarp. Most of our town, including the local Walmart was without power, except for their generators. The cash registers would not run, and cash was the only option. For security reasons, we were allowed to wait in a line, as groups of 8 to 10 were allowed to enter the store, find what they needed, pay cash for it and leave. It was a long line, on a hot day. It was also very odd. No one was talking. They were sweaty, and disheveled, (as was I) and in no mood for idle chit chat. The sadness was hanging in the air like a huge weight. Then it was my turn to go in. I walked through the doors and what I saw next, brought me to tears and very nearly, to my knees. A beautiful, 70 something, gray haired, eyes glistening, with her hands outstretched, lady who was making an effort to look into each of our weary faces, SMILED, and said; Welcome to Walmart.
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