'' Top Ten Reasons Why Being A ' Tyrannosaurus Rex' Sucks '

 

To my dear, dear friends, and ever-loyal readers: I think of you often, whether I happpen to online or not; I think of your kindness, your acceptance, encouragement, and support, allof which you give so freely, never seeking anything in return.

 

I see you as the kind of family I wished I had had, and the friends I wish I had had, those who would remain stready influences all my life. When I think of you, I think what wonderful neighbors you would be, and I could foresee many, pleasant evenings of soft music, lowered lights, good food, and...kind conversation.

 

That--too me--would be the kind of life I would wish to forge for myself. and, there...find MY bliss.

And so, my dearest friends, in lieu of the usual, 'deathless and breathless', entries of dire and doom that I oft tend to write, I thought for this Tuesday, November 15, 2011, I would submit a lighter piece, in fond hopes that it may bring a smile to your face, and a laugh upon your lips, and...some brief, little joy to your heart, and with it, all hopes for a terrific day !!

 

I don't know how any of you look at the " David Letterman Show " late at night, but I have 'borrowed' a popular segment from his show: The 'Top Ten Lists", and have written my own, in hopes that it may--in some way--brighten your day. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did, writing it.

 

' Top Ten Reasons Why Being A ' Tyrannosaurus Rex' Sucks '

by 'Zahc'

 

#10) I really hate it when people call me 'T-Rex"; hey...for your information, its 'Tyrannosaurus Rex"; that's right, you boneheads, "Tyrant Lizard King" !!!!!! Besides, 'T-Rex' sounds like some overweight red-neck, living in a trailer, who happens to think he can sing !.

 

#9) Carnivore or Scavenger ? Jesus...when did I go from being 'Tyrant 'effing Lizard King; top dog, scattering all before me in terror, to eating shit that's been lying around dead already ? Sheesh...that's just Nasty.

 

#8) Cantilever Posture ? There's a skeleton of my cousin in the National Museum in New Your City; oh, sure...they may have made a few misstakes here and there, but...there he is: standing upright, tall, regal-looking, even. Now, there's a 'Rex' in my opinion.

Current wisdom has me permanently bent at the hips, like a kiddies' see-saw, bobbing up and down; its just embarassing. Geez...YOU try it, running around all day with your tail in the air, bent over like that for eight hours and see if it doesnt just kill your back.

 

#7) Up scale grocery stores want to sell my eggs in the 'Green Section'; do I get a cut ? Dream on !

 

#6) O.K., already, so I have big feet, and take something like a size 52EEEEEEEEE; you know how hard it is to buy shoes ? Not even at WalMart; plus, with these claws, I'm not about to shell out $300.00 for a pair of NIKE's that'll only last a couple of weeks or so.

 

#5) Its not like you can just go into a bar for a quiet drink, without running into some drunken Allosaur or something, sobbing about how he's lost all of his friends. It was A COMET, dammit, not like it was something we planned or anything. Get over it already. We all took hits.

 

#4) O.K....let's face it...I have horrible breath, supposedly from eating all that dead shit; but, do you know how hard it is to pick up chicks ?.

 

#3) On airlines, I gotta buy three seats for myself, and three more just for my tail. You know how much THAT costs !

 

#2) Look--you morons--I ruled the Jurassic Period for millions and millions of years; you humans haven't been around for spit. ALL that movie crap you see is just pure Hollywood. It could be worse, I guess; after a zillion, cheap films with a man in a rubber suit...how totally humiliating !!! No wonder I heard that Godzilla's hitting the hard stuff.

 

And the #1 reason why "Being a Tyrannosaurus Rex Sucks:

 

Dogs and cats can lick ther own genitals, but me, King Tyrant Lizard with these two, little, cartoon arms, I can't even scratch ny NOSE when it itches !!!!!!!!!!!

 

And there you have it, my dearest friends, and gentle readers; I wish for you a glorious, 'pain-free'day, or at least significantly lessened; a quiet, comteplative evening, freedom from want or care. And a night of blissful, restorative rest, and.....' may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest '.(Shakespeare.) Love, 'Zahc'

"Where DOES The MOney GO?, (a never-ending, monthly lament!)"

 

“Where DOES The Money Go ?”

 

( A never-ending, monthly lament! )

 

09/05/12

 

 

To my very, very dearest friends, and ever constant, loyal readers,

 

I think I most recently set a new land-speed record for getting rid of my monthly, S.S.D.I. income; my checks are usually deposited the 3^rd, but because the 3^rd of September happened to fall on a Monday, which was as observed Holiday, my little check arrived to me on August, the 31^st,

 

I always try—after five or six revisions—to have in place some kind of practical budget for the new month.  I telephone—early, just after the meter has been read—to find out what my electric bill will be (which is usually due sometime around the 16^th of each month).  I also anticipate my cable bill (computer and telephone ONLY, as I gave away my television sets for want of anything interesting to watch!  And call my other, regular utilities billers for their take on the amount soon to be due.

 

Suffice it to say, this past Friday, after the dust had cleared, the dead moths flushed from my wallet, and with many a lamentation and sigh sent Heavenward, I found that—for all purposes—I, in the space of a single morning, had spent 55% of my income, with another 10% not-as-yet accounted for, missing, presumed dead; so that by yesterday, the 4^th, I was effectively broke!

 

But how can this be?  The house I inherited is paid for.  I have no car, nor can I drive one.  I rarely go anywhere.  So where does the rest seemingly vanish to?

 

First, while my S.S.D.I (disability income), is a regular, guaranteed source of income, depending upon what index you may choose to apply, it is an amount presently some $5,000.00 below the State, and nearly $13,000.00 beneath the Federal guidelines for poverty!

 

Now, my most dear friends, please do not mistake me; I am most grateful for what I DO receive, as I have no other income, and thus without it, would surely perish.

 

And even though I do not have to pay a mortgage, or car payments, or car insurance, or car maintenance, or gasoline, other, consequent charges sneak up to bite me in the ass.

 

Big and little, these other ‘bills’ siphon the cash right out of my checkbook, and when added up, represent quite a sizeable percentage of my monthly S.S.D.I.

 

In no particular order, or amount:

 

1)           A charge to have my garbage taken away.

2)           A minimum+ payment to my credit card.

3)           Three doctor’s bills, and one ambulance charge I am paying off as I only have Medicare, and if I cannot get Medicaid to contribute (which is so often the case), I am still responsible for the remaining 20%.

4)           Even though I have a Medicare, Part D prescription plan, besides my drug co-pays, other prescriptions are simply not covered, and these must be paid in full, or at whatever slight discount can be applied.  Roughly—then—take away another 10% of my income.

5)           Now, my dear canine companion—Daisy—also needs medications, and these must be paid in full each month.  There now goes another 12.5%.

6)           Since I cannot always rely upon the kindnesses of a neighbor to go grocery shopping for me, any time I have an order ready, I have to pay a $30.00 delivery charge to have it brought to my home.  So, figure that, plus food, to be about 35% of my check.

7)           Any time I have to have my lawn mowed, the hedges trimmed, the house cleaned, I have to pay for this out of my own pocket.

8)           To have my C.N.A. help me with three showers a week (during which visits she also washes the dishes leftover, and straightens-up the house a little, and takes the garbage out, there goes another 12.5% of my income.  Presently, she take my laundry to wash and dry it; that costs me about $45.00 a month.

9)           I mention this only because I actually budget it every month, but—dearest friends—PLEASE do not fuss at me for it:  I smoke about 2+ packs of cigarettes a day.  Granted, I know it is a foul habit, one not good for me, but…nonetheless, there it is.  In fact, for some time, now, I no longer smoke name brand, or even generic cigarettes, but have gotten used to smoking “Remington’s”, a cigarette-sized, bland cigar, as they cost me about $9.90/carton.  And I go through about 8+cartons a month.  It—too—results in some considerable math.

 

So, my dearest friends, if everything I’ve listed above (plus, those costs that vary, are transient, or ‘one time’ expenses), adds up to greater than 100% of my income, you will see how (like so many other of you, dear friends) close I come to the edge; why worries about finances plague me all the time; and why all this surely adds to my feelings of deep depression, panic, and dire thoughts of the future.

 

None of this is helped by a disability entitlement that has seen only two, small cost of living raises in seven years, while consumer prices only continue to rise.  A very good example of this would be my electric bill.  The bill that I just paid (due on September 16^th) is the highest—almost—that I’ve ever had to pay.  Blame it on TWO, added-on fuel surcharges, AND a blistering summer quite without equal.

 

And I live in a double-wide, mobile home, halfway down the Florida peninsula, where the heat and humidity raise the daytime temperatures to well over 110 degrees.

 

For me, having and using my central A/C is a necessity, almost made a luxury by just how much it does cost each month…to be able to breathe.  I have tried—dear friends—to raise the thermostat to 82 degrees, but—at that temperature, inside the house—I sweat buckets, and cannot draw a decent breath.

 

So…how DO I try to ‘save’ money?  First of all, please let us be candid; in verity, my S.S.D.I. is simply not enough to go around, or—really—to have any left over for ‘extras’.

 

With the exception of my having gone out for lunch to a restaurant, last month, more and more my income—fully as much as my illnesses, and agoraphobia—keep me inside the house, what I refer to as something akin to voluntary ‘house arrest’!

 

And, while I do get food stamps, I actually get the lordly sum of $16.00 a month from the wonderful folks at Medicaid.  Once a month, the ‘Volunteer Way’ will deliver a small case of food to me.  All too often—though—the canned goods are dented, rusty, or the products very, very much past the ‘sell by’ date.  Last year, for instance, I was given four, small cans of tuna…dated 2003!  And sometimes other packaged items that have been crushed, are open, or have had the cellophane bag inside compromised (or, bitten through, please use your imagination!).

 

Of course I have to throw away anything suspect; the real tragedy are those who are elderly, ill, or with compromised immune systems, or, who are just too G.D. poverty-ridden who have no choice, but to consume these things.

 

As a speculative, albeit grim aside, in the past twenty years of the ‘Volunteer Way’, or, the County Food Bank, just how many recipients died from subsequent food poisoning?  A figure no one will ever know, as whenever one of these societal groups dies, they are merely carted off to the County version of ‘Boot Hill’, with never a peep of inquiry, or autopsy.

 

I realize that I cannot possibly be the only person who is disabled, on tons of medications, unable to work, and dependent upon an entitlement that just isn’t enough these days.

 

My questions to you, my very, very dear friends are:

1)           How do you manage, financially?

2)           What do you do to save on expenses like electric bills, or food costs?

3)           Do you find yourself having to survive on a ‘standard of living’ that is deficient?

4)           What advice do you have on how to pay bills?

5)           Are you able to put-aside any money in savings? (don’t worry…you need not give a specific figure)

6)           Do you make a budget, or budgets every month? Do you pretty much adhere to them?

7)           What tricks of survival do you employ that you would kindly share?

8)           Do you ever ‘barter’ for goods, or ‘work-for-work trading services?

9)           And while I know everyone dreams of hitting the Lottery, meanwhile, about what percentage of your current income, added, again, as a raise, would allow you more freedom and comfort.  For example, a 50% increase in my current income would add immeasurably to my ‘comfort level’; a 100% increase would—in fact—allow me to save money.

10)    About how much—approximately, or translated as a percentage of your income, would you honestly say gets wasted, or ‘imprudently’ spent?

 

And while it is not necessary to give exact monetary amounts (as that is a most private issue), still, any suggestions or hints, or tricks you might have to stretch your available income would be most welcome!

 

And to avoid a possible firestorm of criticism, I would most respectfully ask that you please refrain from castigating me for having to pay Daisy’s vet bills and grooming bills, and her medicine…and…my smoking, any advice or guidelines would be ever so most appreciated!

 

As always, please, please know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"Why Do I So Often Fear The Coming Night ?"

“Why Do I So Often Fear The Coming Night ?”

 

(is it because of seeming, endless, horrid nightmare, that in consuming all, would also seek my breath, or, rather that each night is thieve to prior day, to bring me that much closer unto death?)

 

dedicated to my dear friends, ‘mabri’; ‘DenverCowboy’; ‘1magicman’; to Joan; and, of course to dear, ’Strenuba’

 

09/03/12

 

 

 

I

I often wonder, now, why I fear so much the coming night?

Could it be that—in depression, and a hundred, other agonies, I do not want to surrender any—should there have been some--of a day’s calm, and wonderful sight.  

Exhausted, more than sleepy, now, I know I shall awake red-faced, sweated, fearful from nightmares that collectively affright,

and, gasping-know that nightfall signifies one less day, even if those days are pain-filled and unpleasant, marked upon the calendar of my life when—in my long-ago, and dusty youth—so much seemed to delight,

that only now is a nonetheless failed and traduced attempt at memory’s second sight.

 

II

Or—rather—it is that the house has become too quiet, that I truly know that I am alone,

pausing to utter fractured prayers of a base unreasonableness, to a God I’ve never seen: to atone,

and, in giving—gladly—all my goods and worth I own,

abjure past sins that gather me in coldness now, when the cardboard fortress that is my home is too empty and too quiet, saving for an old dog’s moan,

for she is running to some private, hunting dream, and lost in an old dog’s sleep I cannot find, for me—instead, there IS no comfort known.

 

III

 

And why cannot I find some lingering sense of peace, somewhere among the scores of medicines I take, which are pushed and pulled by illness, pain; that offers only brief respite, but really does not abate

the chilling thoughts that horrid dreams will pursue me, to lead ever downward to that great,

and fiery lake; how then can I at last pay Charon’s fare across the Styx?, where a triple-headed, monsterous Cerberus lies in wait

as guardian to a hellish scape of unending torment, or, rather would some dreamless sleep prove to be my fate.

Though I would choose sweet angels to bear up my soul, their rap’tous songs of evanescent joy elate.

 

IV

To find myself face to face with a kinder, more forgiving Lord,

Who—in made manifest, eternal love—would gather me ‘round with soothing word,

forgiving me for a life-time of slights, both minor and major failures of the soul, however odd.

At least—in dreams—of beauty rare in cleansing, clarifying, changing to some perfect self be heard,

And by that gentle, soft, and reassuring Voice, instead, be stirred!

 

V

 

But, once again, I find myself awake—too early—as if beaten by a hundred whips to face the dawn.

And in my collected sorrow know that, still… somehow, life—as such—must go ever forward, and still forward, until such time when life—itself is gone

with naught else to anticipate, save a cup of coffee’s ‘fun house’ reflection of a face so tired and wan

that were not my barren tears used so nearly up, they might fall to some desert patch of sleeping earth to somehow make it less despairing, and in a joyful fruitfulness, respond!

Oh !, could I at last be as unchained from nightmare chained to nightmare, chained to the evilness of nightmare? With its inevitable thoughts of death, to ever fly away, and fly beyond!

 

VI

 

To be ever less consumed with pain by day, of course, would doubtless—so continued be my flight,

Until the dark, and dreary end of day, would prove to ever still the ravening fear I have each night.

 

End

 

Please always know you occupy some larger place within my heart.

 

Love,

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"As The Hurricane Draws Ever Near...."

 

“As The Hurricane Draws Ever Near, A Time To Hope And Pray, A Time To ‘Watch And Wait’…Always To Wait”

 

 

08/26/12

 

 

To my very, very special friends, and wonderfully loyal readers, a ‘special storm update’, what there is of it.

 

 

How much difference can a day, or two, or three make, when considering the uncertain, and potential destructive, and/or deadly progress of an hurricane?

 

As precious hours pass, those of us who may be most affected feel the most helpless before the impact of a major storm.

 

Think, for a moment, of the hurricane as a pinball, and the entire Gulf Coast, from Galveston, Texas, through the states of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and…Florida as mere distant lights at the rear of a pinball machine; once launched (with NO use of the side ‘flippers’ to bear-upon direction), the hurricane takes on a life of its own, and describes a unique swath of destruction.

 

Only the legion of interactive variables such as water temperature, depth, times of high and low tide, wind direction, and…time influence the course, and strength of an hurricane, and how ultimately strong, persistent, or deadly it will be, or become.

 

Some time ago, I happened to read that—despite all the improvements and inventions designed to help more accurately predict the weather—beyond about seventy-two hours, or, three days (inclusive!), the prediction of weather becomes ineffective, and thus remains—for the most part—a complete, guessing game.

 

For a five to ten-day forecast of the present hurricane, one might as well tape-up a map of the Gulf of Mexico, and then throw darts at it.

 

Of course, with the marvel of computers, and computer-generated images, satellite maps, historical compilation, and use of ‘fly-though’ aircraft that yield valuable information about the storm, still, the projected path of a storm, and where it will make landfall, is still a matter known only to God.

 

No one knows—for example—quite why the confluence of weather datum fails to predict how intense and powerful a hurricane may become; one good indicator is an observed drop in barometric pressure within, and around the storm.  The lower the barometric pressure becomes, the more intense is the hurricane.

 

Still, no one knows exactly why this occurs.  Hurricanes are—I believe—divided into five categories, ranging from 1-5, with one, being much less of a hurricane, to a category five, which—by the way—is the strength of the hurricane that destroyed New Orleans, Louisiana, known as ‘Katrina’.

 

For those of you who may be curious, perhaps ‘Wikipedia’ might describe more fully, the differing categories of hurricanes.  For our purposes, here, suffice to say that there is a profound difference between hurricanes rated at a windspeed, and force of category one, to one that is rated a category five.

 

At category five, a hurricane of that magnitude confers destruction on a scale quite unimaginable, sweeping-up into its ravening vortex everything in its path, literally changing the surfaces of land masses, rendering areas, and populations devoid of life, and causing untold billions of dollars in wanton damage.

 

Frankly, my most dear friends, there is NO way one can prepare for the arrival, and effects of a category five hurricane.  For arguments sake, let’s assume that everything would be as vaporized as if from an atomic blast, but without the resulting radioactivity.

 

And while hurricanes generally lose much of their force upon making landfall, they can re-intensify on the other side when again traveling out to sea, and pose—then—a very real threat all the way up the eastern seaboard to New York State!

 

Of course, those who live in areas in the United States not affected by hurricane (though, these areas DO include the Gulf coast states, in general, and Florida—where I live—in particular!), are often profoundly affected by tornadoes, either singly, in groups, or developed in rapid succession.

 

With tornadoes, there is practically no warning of their occurrence whatsoever, their paths are unpredictable, and, they can develop a tendency to ‘skip’, touching down randomly along their plotted course.

 

This is why (although it seems unimaginable), on say, an ordinary, residential street, with houses of similar construction all lined up, how one home will be quite unaffected, another—perhaps, next door—will be damaged only slightly, while another will have been reduced to matchsticks by the tornado’s force.

 

About five years ago—now—an errant tornado touched down about four blocks from where I live. As it described an unchartable course through the neighborhood, my home was left untouched, although—during the storm’s duration—it seemed to vacuum the trees of every dead leaf, broke off and blew branches and tree limbs all about the yard, and swept-away everything loose on the back deck: outdoor furniture, potted plants were recovered some fifty yards away against some trees in the undeveloped lot adjacent to mine.

 

However, homes were damaged all along the path it took; some mobile homes were rendered uninhabitable, and one—in particular (because I saw pictures of it later), was ‘squashed’ in the middle, having been soundly struck by an uprooted, and falling tree.  Dear friends, imagine the middle of that mobile home (right at the front door!)  effectively reduced to about three feet in height!  Thank Heavens, the occupants were away at the time!

 

Despite all our knowledge, and all of our combined Science, no one, neither Man, President, Scientist, nor state, or city Governments can prevent tornadoes or hurricanes from occurring.

 

In a fit of helpless pique, I once telephoned a local television station, and their weather department, to speak to a meteorologist regarding the possible destruction of hurricanes, especially when they were still so very far from habitation.

 

I was younger, then, as I did not particularly care that I might be well-considered to be ‘just another crack-pot’!

 

Said I ( and, my dearest friends, you—too—may think me either stupid, or batty, or…both!), why cannot the airplanes that routinely fly-through the centers of hurricanes to record data, to—simply—while they are there, to lob a low-radiation nuclear device into the hurricanes’ ‘eye’, at the base where the storm touches water, and then…voila…just blow the hurricane to pieces, effectively turning it into no more than a large field of thunderstorms, and rainy weather?

 

I must say that the meteorologist with whom I spoke was very kind, patient, and—without doubt—long-suffering.

 

He told me that first, it might cause a wide distribution of radioactive rain, and water; secondly, that it might pose a threat to inhabited areas.

 

Then, just as I had concluded that I had sounded like some loose-witted maniac, he finally told me something quite unbelievable. For when I apologized for abusing his time, and credulity, he told me that the use of a nuclear deterrent in hurricane elimination had already been suggested, and considered!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Otherwise, EVERY year, from the beginning of June, until quite the end of December, we—in Florida, and elsewhere—periodically check the weather channels, always half-holding our collective breaths, watching and waiting for any pronounced tropical disturbances to imamate from the west coast of Africa; we watch, helpless, as tropical storms strengthen into hurricanes as they languidly plow-through the Atlantic waters, headed ever westward, but to where? 

 

Only time, my dearest friends, will tell.

 

For those of you who are—at present—threatened by Hurricane Isaac, or who live within the unfolding, projected path of the storm, please know I think of you; you are in my thoughts, and prayers. And…that’s about all we CAN do for each other.  I say prayers—too—really, for all of us.

 

And please, please always know I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"A Somewhat Disquieted Calm Before The Storm...And Other Trifles"

 

“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 1^st, and ends, December 31^st.

 

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!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles