I’ve been through one hurricane, Camille, and had an anticlimactic near miss with Rita.
Camille was no lady. She was an enraged Category 5 harpy, and she tore into Biloxi, MS, screaming wind at 190 mph and wielding a battering-ram storm surge some 24 feet high. I was an 18-year-old airman stationed at Keesler, and I’ve got to tell you, Camille made a lasting impression. You don’t have to see but one massive barge deposited in the middle of the highway from 5 miles out in the Gulf; it teaches you respect.
Rita was another bad one. We were ready for her–teeth gritted, batteries stockpiled, windows shuttered–but she brushed by us without so much as a drop of rain. Other towns weren’t as fortunate.
Now there’s Ike. We’ve been keeping an eye on him all week. It seems Ike aims to pay Texas a call sometime this evening. God, please bless and protect all those directly in his path.
Anyway, like I said, we’ve been keeping an eye on Ike all week. Sometime yesterday, the odds that he might head this way got a lot shorter, so we hereabouts shifted into “fixin’ to have bad weather” gear. As you may know, Texans are prone to do everything big and boisterous, and pre-hurricane preparations are no exception. Of course, we like to keep our attitude laid back and laconic, even as we descend on Wal-Mart like a horde of hungry, battery devouring locusts.
I was in Wal-Mart myself yesterday, moseying through the aisles, smiling tolerantly at all the Texans smiling tolerantly at me, acting like it made me no never-mind whatsoever if I couldn’t find a battery or a can of soup in the place. (I know I keep mentioning batteries, but you have to understand: Energizer Ds are more or less the holy grail of fixin’-to-have-bad-weather shopping.) I was cool and calm. I was sardonically amused–especially after witnessing the following exchange.
Two Texans converged in the aisle. Since the aisles were chaotic and congested, they suffered a near collision. But they were polite as always.
The lady exclaimed, “Oh, excuse me!” then glanced around like she’d never seen anything half so amazing in all her born days as all these folks wheeling carts up and down the aisle. She shook her head. “Isn’t this just crazy? Look at all these people! You’d think the end of the world was comin’.”
Evidently, 20 gallons of water, 6 cases of canned goods and 2 monstrous bags of charcoal constituted her regular shopping list.
“I know what you mean,” drawled the man. “This happens most every year. People just panic, run out, and empty the stores.” At which point, he reached down to keep his own immense bag of charcoal from sliding off the topmost, teetering case Aquafina.
I smiled and shook my head indulgently. Poor things couldn’t even see the planks in their own eyes, I thought, rather Biblically. After meditating a moment on how glad I was not to be like them, I grabbed a passing clerk by the arm. “Where are the batteries?”
Since Aisle 17 was a barren wasteland, I’m happy to report my pre-Rita stockpile contained some Ds. I’ve got plenty of water, an extra loaf in the bread machine and enough peanut butter to choke a horse. The kitchen table is a forest of candles and flashlights, and there’s nothing left on my patio but a confused brown spider running himself ragged looking for cover that’s no longer there. (I should probably mention the hummingbirds. Ever since I took down the feeders, they’ve been hovering outside my window, staring at me in wounded reproach. I finally had to close the blinds to escape the guilt pangs.)
It’s around 3:30 now. Clouds are rolling in, the air is heavy and still. It feels for all the world like Texas is holding her breath.
Stay tuned for developments ….
