Saturday, September 4, 2004
Hunkering Down
The windows are boarded up and I say goodbye to my husband again. He was gone five days after Charley, so I wonder when we'll see each other again. This time he will ride out the storm across the bay in St. Petersburg. Our hurricane party this time will be all girls — my 16- and 18-year-old daughters, myself and Frances.Today finds the girls working again. I'm surprised that there is anything left to sell, but when I go to pick them up at 5 o'clock there are people pouring out of the store carrying bags. We have begun to feel the effects of Frances. While I am waiting for them to come out, my medium-size SUV is being pelted with rain and occasionally rocking from the stronger wind gusts. I am glad I made the decision for them not to drive their own small cars.
We spend the evening in front of the television watching the radar pictures of the outer bands of the storm come and go. By the time we go to bed around midnight the weather is deteriorating steadily.
Sunday, September 5, 2004
Where Were You When the Lights Went Out?
I have lost track of the damage Hurricane Frances left on the East Coast through the night, because I chose to sleep while I could. The Tampa Bay area is now experiencing tropical force winds with gusts that makes our roof creak and my mind wondering if it will hold. They say this uncertainty will last all day as the storm moves slowly over the Peninsula. The steady rain hasn't yet arrived, but they say it is coming... as are stronger winds. We are among the lucky ones though... we still have power, although I can't be sure how long that will last.It seems like I bragged too soon. We just lost power. It is just after noon and I was in the middle of a storm update for Florida for Visitors when I heard the transformer blow and the lights were immediately extinguished. The beep, beep, beep of my UPS system reminds me I need to hurry with the update because it only buys me a few minutes of time on the computer.
The house got warm really quickly. Let me rephrase that. The house got hot really quickly. If you step outside you are taken by the fact that although the wind is blowing and it is raining off and on, the air is really warm. I suggest that to cool off we make milk shakes. Both girls are quick to ask how can we do that without power. I show them. The already soft ice cream is no match for a hand whisk. They are delighted and yet somewhat amazed that their mom is so smart. OK. I made that part up.
The storm clouds make it dark much earlier than usual and we alternately snack, sleep, play games by flashlight and treat ourselves to a movie via a portable DVD player. A battery-operated radio and tiny battery-operated TV are our link to the outside world. Somehow it seems the noises of the storm — wind, driving rain, creaking roof and banging tree branches — are magnified by the darkness and it becomes a very long night with sleep coming in short durations.
Monday, September 6, 2004
Labor Day!
My youngest daughter wakes me at 4:30 in the morning. She can't breathe because of the heat. The smell from the plywood that boards up our windows seems especially strong. You are advised not to go outside in a hurricane because of the dangers of flying debris, downed power lines, etc. I decide we'll be safe if we stay within the small entry alcove, so I drag her and the dog outside in the blustering wind. She feels better and we find it difficult to want to come back inside.Daylight brings a view of the extent of our "damage" — a few small tree limbs are on the ground and lots of leaves litter our yard. We are lucky and by the afternoon we are out raking because it is something to do and seems much cooler outside. We still get sweaty and enjoy taking a couple of quick cold showers throughout the day.
My oldest daughter is called into work early in the morning. Her store has lost all of its perishables, but still people stream in and out throughout the day for whatever they can buy. By the time they close the store and she gets home, I've have decided we can't spend the night in the sweltering house. We throw a few things in the car and head to St. Pete where we will spend the night in my husband's hotel room. About half way across one of the bridges our SUV is being buffeted by still gusty winds and we all are holding our breath that we make it to the other side.
As we listen to the radio, there seems to be a mixed message being broadcast. First, we're told to stay home until workers can clear the roadways of downed trees and power lines. We're told how dangerous intersections become without traffic lights. We can attest to that. We've already carefully negotiated several. Next, listeners are being told that if you are without power you should find somewhere to go — to a friend's or relative's house or to a shelter. I find these messages all at once amusing and confusing.
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