I woke at quarter to five this morning, on top of the covers, twisted in the oddest shape (as if I had just landed at the bottom of a cliff), trying to get as much of my body as possible facing the ceiling fan at once. It wasn't working. I straightened back up, and before I could fall asleep again, I heard a heavy rain band suddenly blow over the Park. For a few minutes, the wind was strong, the rain was heavy, and lying there in the dark, I realized how little I prepared for what was at that moment becoming a hurricane gently grazing my home. I never brought inside any of the lanterns that decorate the deck. I didn't police the yard for debris that could cause problems. And best of all, I didn't put the lawn mower away, but instead left it parked just outside the shed, with the door open. Oh, balls.
A couple days ago, the folks at physical therapy (docs and patients) and I were talking about the storm that was then just developing off the Florida coast, as well as reminiscing of past hurricanes. It was sort of fun, having a functional memory of some of the bigger named storms that have come through this area, even though for most of the ones I experienced, I was a little farther north of here. I remember massive hurricane Floyd, staying up all night watching the Weather Channel as it approached, and being childishly amused by its big pink signature on Doppler radar. I think (pink) Floyd might have been the one responsible for shutting down my town for a few days. That or it was Dennis, the one that swirled off the Outer Banks for days, stuck in a weird, giant coastal eddy, making a menace of itself until it had completely drowned the town of New Bern. People around here have a long memory for hurricanes, and Hugo has its own legendary lore. I was off in my own world in the middle of the country that year, so I have to rely on the stories told by locals. The little tropical storm that rolled over the land just west of me last year was almost a disappointment, compared to those famous disasters. Yeah, I said it. I can't help it. When a natural disaster hits, I'm fascinated by the destruction, even knowing what a horrible pain in the ass it is dealing with insurance companies and home restoration for months afterward. It's just so much more exciting, seeing a Category 5 storm, compared to a 2 or 3. It's my kind of thrill-seeking.
For all my big talk about riding out storms, I'm really not all that calm in scary situations. Like tonight, when I brought in the last half-bag of potting soil in from the garage, so I could pot up the Persian shield, echinacea, and Meyer lemon I bought last week. The two black cats were fascinated while I was scooping soil out to pack around the new plants. I thought they were just watching the undulations of the plastic bag, as I dug deep with my hands and the empty nursery container. And then I felt something on my bare upper arm. A giant palmetto bug had hitched a ride in from outside, and was climbing up my arm. I shrieked like a maniac, throwing a full container of potting soil around the kitchen, and swiping the bug down on the floor, where I immediately stomped on him. I'm getting creeped out again just thinking about it. I should have picked up on the warnings the girls were giving me, that something ooky was moving around the soil, and it wasn't me. Next time, I will listen to them.
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