“A
Somewhat Disquieted Calm Before The Storm…And Other Trifles”
08/25/12
To my very, very dearest friends, and ever-loyal
readers,
Here in Sunny ‘Flor-ida’, our Hurricane Season
formally begins on June 1st, and ends, December 31st.
What, do you say…hurricanes in December; hurricanes
at Christmas? Yes, actually, as I have
lived here quite long-enough to have witnessed tropical storms come ashore
exactly on the very first day of the season, and—if memory serves—a hurricane—once--late
in November, into December. No wonder no
one got any presents that particular Christmas, as Santa—doubtlessly caught-up
in the ravening vortex—was sleigh-and-all, shaken to pieces, and flung back to
the North Pole.
Funny, but I do not recall ever being worried about
hurricanes until about fifteen years ago; that’s when my dear, late father
would—upon the announcement of an impending hurricane—stay utterly glued to the
TeeVee, watching the ‘Weather Channel’, for hours, and hours of endless,
deathless-and-breathless updates, always, by weather persons who had taken-off
their suit jackets, to bring the latest news to us, wearing only their dress
shirts, and ties, sometimes, with shirt collar unbuttoned, and tie rakishly
half-unknotted. I never understood why
they always did this. Perhaps, it was to
give the illusion of camping out in the studio, 24/7, in case they should inadvertently
miss ANY bit of data.
And, while these prognostications were always ‘live’,
the majority of their forecasts consisted of endless repetition, which made us
all nervous, and unsettled.
We would be ‘treated’ to live video of places where
the particular hurricane in mind had already passed, or was passing, more or
less ALWAYS with the dire chance that it would cream us, destroy the house,
killing thousands, while vaporizing property…especially mobile homes.
After two or three days of being bludgeoned to death
by frantic forecasters, and watching, as the powerful winds and storm surges
swept house, hotels, beaches, swimming pools, people and pets away, frankly—dearest
friends—the actual arrival of the storm was, at best, anti-climactic.
It is odd, but, one apparently can only be flogged
with eminent destruction for so long, and then, it just becomes really annoying…and,
boring, frankly.
We would be regaled by scenes of super markets being
emptied of milk, batteries, sugar, bottled water, flashlights, candles, and
non-perishable canned food, while equally poignant scenes of a frantic public
grabbing plywood, nails, duct tape (gee, it really IS good for everything!),
even though the prices for these items had been so conveniently ‘marked-up’
just before.
No matter, as the news became more dire and
dangerous, citizens scattered before the storm’s projected path, fleeing
somewhere, anywhere, resulting in traffic gridlocks, and gas stations being
drained dry, and simply closing up, as motel, and hotel accommodations all
along the ‘escape’ routes were quickly filled (at whatever price was demanded,
and received), as, who is going to barter or baulk when mindlessly trying to
find alien shelter in far-away Counties?
The rest of us who had decided to remain had two
choices: should we evacuate to the ‘nearest’ designated shelter, or simply
choose to ‘ride it out’?
In well-remember—now—but in those long-ago flights
from reason, shelter accommodations were abysmal to say the least. One then had to bring one’s own food,
bedding, pillows, chairs, air mattresses, and changes of clothing.
In those days, no food was provided, except the dodgiest
of seeming field-rations left-over from WWII, and, potable water…kind of.
In these shelters, there was no way to bathe, or to
clean up; the bathrooms were quickly turned into ‘slip-n-slides’ of filth, and disarray.
Nearly everyone brought radios, which—among the
crowded throng—blared broadcasts over an hundred, different stations. Back, when I still lived in Tampa, my folks
once evacuated to a nearby school, where they were packed-in, trunk-to-tail,
side-by-side, and, asses-over-elbows. My
mom and dad, who were in their mid-seventies, then, had to try to sleep on the
floor.
Of course, with children running amok, and infants
screaming at the top of their little lungs, no one was ever to get any sleep. And, BTW, once you were logged-in at a
shelter, there you were made to STAY, until Civil Defense gave the ‘all-clear’. So, one might conceivably be confined, as
would any common prisoner for a week or two.
Such torture was the experience, that I believe—now—that
my mother and father went to a shelter only one, other time (which was, in
hindsight, probably a good idea, as that hurricane tore off about ten feet of
our home’s roof, walls, and windows, leaving the house—in the pounding, relentless
rain and wind—a mini-disaster area all by its little lonesome.
Those who choose to remain at home to ‘ride it out’
come in two, distinct flavors;
1)
Those homeowners who—in short order—become
spastic, listening to the endless rain, enduring power outages, and unbearable
summer heat, while—in the case of my mother and father, camped-out at home,
listening, avidly to the weather forecasts over a portable radio, and….
2)
Those idiots who insist on having ‘Hurricane
Parties’. These people are often figured
in ‘Weather Channel’ videos, as they romp-about, defying the storm. You can tell who they are, as they are the
only ones outdoors, trying to skip-about in the high surf (ignoring the chance
of massive ‘tidal surge’); or driving along roadways, or seawalls that are very
nearly obscured by thunderous rain, and waves that seek to wash the cars (and
their idiot drivers and passengers) up and over, and…out to sea.
Those who have video cameras would venture out to
film trees and shrubs being nearly blown sideways to the ground, stop signs, or
traffic signals that whipped-about in the wind…or, the occasional sight of
watching a home’s roof being torn off and asunder. Not to mention, all the deadly, flying
debris.
While I cannot recall it to ready mind, there is the
story of a number of persons who decided to remain in a hotel in Florida, near
the Keys, defying the storm, and the awful elements, to have a ‘Hurricane Party’. There must have been fourteen or sixteen
people who stayed behind, laugh at, and, tempting Fate (not really a wise thing
to do, my dearest friends).
For, when the Hurricane had ended, the only thing
that remained of the hotel was its foundations.
Of the revelers, AND, the majority of the hotel, nothing was ever
recovered. I particularly found the ‘before’ and ‘after’ photographs both
chilling, and a reminder that—sometimes—it just isn’t wise to poke fun at the
Gods.
Presently, I live in no-flood zone, high and dry,
but in a mobile home (which seems, somehow, to attract tornadoes, hurricanes,
and other excesses of Nature). Why this
is, I have absolutely NO idea.
In other years, I would choose to remain home just
to avoid the hideous living conditions in the shelters, and—I must confess—to ward
off potential looters, for whom an abandoned block of empty homes proves to be
a most irresistible treat.
Also, I would not leave as most shelters will not
allow pets, though, this is slowly changing as it was determined that too many
people stayed behind because of their beloved pets. And I am no different. I could not, nor would not ever leave Daisy
behind; storms in general scare her, and without me to tend to her, she would
go wild in fear, and panic. Uh-uh.
Neither—as it was once suggested to me—would I
simply toss her outside, to roam raggedly-about the neighborhood, looking
desperately for any shelter, any comfort.
Since I have become disabled, however, several
local, Service Agencies, have offered to relocate me to a nursing home, as I am
on oxygen, and numerous medications.
But, the shelter they would shove me in is in Lakeland, Florida…about a
three-and-a half hour drive from here; and…they will not allow me to bring
Daisy.
Even if I were to contemplate putting Daisy in a
local kennel while I quit the scene, no one would be there at night; Daisy
would—perforce—be crammed-into a cage, and, should the weather turn
foul-enough, all kennel personnel would evacuate, leaving their hapless charges
behind.
No, my very dearest friends, I cannot allow that to
happen to my dear dog, Daisy, my canine companion—now—of thirteen years.
And while I have not exactly gone into a tail-spin
of preparedness, I do—perhaps—have about three or four days of food that
requires no cooking. Or else, I just go
on a diet. I have plenty of bottled water
and plenty of dog food, so—if need be—I might finally have answered my
question: what DOES Alpo, select cuts, beef-n-gravy taste like?
And should the electricity dessert us, I have a cell
telephone I can use for emergencies, and have—I believe—enough canisters of
oxygen to last a good week, if my concentrator goes out.
I have several flashlights I can use, thanks to my
wonderful cousin, Larry. We used to have
candles, but I dislike having open flame in a mobile home.
Of course, should the electricity go out, it will
get unbearably hot, inside. Oh well,
sometimes Life sux. I AM on a list to
have my electricity restored as a needed priority.
Other than that, my most precious friends, one can
only watch, wait, and pray. But should a
hurricane the strength of ‘Katrina’ strike, at that magnitude of destruction,
nothing would remain…not even the shelters.
Cars would be lifted, and swept off the roads; trees and power lines
would be thrown into oblivion…and…scores would perish. Simple as that, folks.
As today is half-past Saturday, and the Hurricane is
reputed to ‘touch-down’ somewhere within a hundred-mile radius of my home on
Monday, the die—really—has been cast; its now too late to do anything but
hunker-down, and hide in the center hallway in the house if need be, like THAT
will provide any protection.
For those of you who may want to follow the
Hurricane’s progress, as it makes landfall somewhere in Florida, I will tell
you that I live in New Port Richey, and my zip code is 34654.
Earlier, although it has continued to be ‘hot-as-Hades’,
with the humidity in the stratosphere, yet, the sky was clear, cloudy, and
blue. Now, the sky has darkened
appreciably, the wind has picked up, and it has begun to rain in earnest.
And while I am presently sitting in comfort in my
Study, writing this entry to you, my dearest friends, blissfully cool in
air-conditioning, in a remodeled home whose progress—to date—very much pleases
me, with Daisy, quietly curled-up on the rug beside me, I do find a certain
incredulity in the knowledge that—in as little as three, or four days, all
could be swept-away, Daisy, me, the house, all rendered into conjugate atoms,
with my address becoming ‘ground zero’.
Funny, but today has been a quiet, manageable-pain
day, one of very few nowadays. I am not
particularly afraid—as such—but I do realize the impermanence of Man. And how—in an ‘augen blick’, everything can
be taken and destroyed.
Of course, my dearest, kindest friends, should the
electricity go out, please forgive me should my next few diary entries be
absent, until power has been restored.
I would ask of you—my dearest friends, and
ever-loyal readers—while you may be reading this entry, please think kindly of
Daisy, and me, and, for all others who will be affected by, or have their lives
unalterably changed by this, or, future Hurricanes.
And,
as always, please, please know I love you dearly!
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