Hot damn! I'm thankful!

Adversity has a way of dredging up the best in people, or at least some people.
Lots of people fold and blow away like a cheap tent in a hurricane, while others become deeply-buried titanium fence posts, able to take a stout blowing and keep on going.
I suppose I'm somewhere in between, perhaps closer to titanium fence post than a ragged, crumpled tent flapping in the breeze on a power line.
Small victories mean a lot in the face of catastrophe. Liliputian wins such as getting through quickly on the phone to a FEMA representative or having a relatively easy day at the office can nuture a disaster-battered soul.
There has been so much to be thankful for in the wake of calamity, such as the Broussard family in Louisiana who generously sheltered and fed my wife and two boys for days after Hurricane Rita. These folks represent everything that's right with America.
I'm thankful for the help my wife's family provided in getting her up to Richmond, Va., so she could take comfort in her mother and father while harsh living conditions ensued in our area. My parents and sister sent cash to my wife to buy clothes and cover some travel expenses. They also provided critical emotional support.
My sister and her husband stepped up big-time by following me to Shreveport, La., so I could retrieve my wife's car and minimize her return-travel complications.
Titanic kudos go to Susan Kellner and her husband, Larry, the freakin' CEO of Continental Airlines. The Kellners, friends of my parents, took care of the return-trip arrangements - all expenses paid. I've never even met these people, but they read this blog. Thank you!
I'm thankful for FEMA, the Red Cross and Allstate for their quick responses to our home damage, and I'm thankful for all the debris-removal specialists busting their nuggets to clean up Southeast Texas. I see them everywhere, working all day and on weekends, and yet as of this writing, they are only halfway finished. That means we're looking at another two months before the last log or moldy refrigerator is hauled away, but it could have been worse.
Hurricane Rita, at one point the most bad-ass storm on record before it mercifully pooped out before making landfall, was terrible, but Katrina and Andrew were worse.
I'm thankful for a job that, in Rita, gave me the biggest story of my career, and I'm grateful for a staff that met the challenge with tenacity, professionalism and a brand of journalism rarely found elsewhere.
I'm thankful to have my parents still around. Dad will be 86 this year. Mom is 78. They're both healthy, and we're all going to attend the grand Christmas lighting tomorrow in the Uptown part of Houston.
On Friday, I will drive east to Waveland, Miss., where I plan to run a marathon the next day and write a story about the enduring spirit of runners, who kept the race alive despite the ravages of Hurricane Katrina. Being poorly trained, I'll be lucky, and thankful, to finish that race.
This past week brought three nice victories into the picture.
First up, the contractor, who works the old-fashion way - with his word and a handshake - sent his crew out to the house to put on a new roof and fix all the smashed wood it sits on.
Next, one of the three debris piles disappeared from the front of our home. It was the smaller pile, the one with the leaf- and pine needle-filled bags, but I was happy to see it go. One more step toward normalcy.
Lastly, FEMA wired $2,000 into my checking account, ending a two-month ordeal through the ugly but interesting bowels of government bureaucracy.
And, by golly, I'm a fountain of thankfulness for that one.
Happy Thanksgiving!