For nearly three weeks I've struggled to find
the right words to write about Hurricane Irma, which destroyed islands in the Caribbean, then hit South Florida, eventually coming up the center of the state. The Tampa Bay region got really lucky in the end, as it avoided a direct hit and the storm had diminished to a category 2 by the time it arrived. And
now Puerto Rico is experiencing a humanitarian crisis after being pummeled by Hurricane Maria. My heart goes out to those people.
My plan when severe weather is forecast to for Tampa is always to go to my sister's house, as the area I live in is highly flood prone and she is on higher ground. This time was no exception; however, her plan was different. She wanted to leave, head north, get out of the state, and she wanted me to go with her and the rest of the family. But I was not in a place to pack up and leave. I had real concerns about my foot recovery; I was about eight weeks post-surgery and very newly out of the boot and in a shoe. I still needed to elevate and ice frequently, and I knew that a long car ride, to somewhere uncertain that may not have the amenities I needed, would be extremely difficult to endure. I also knew that Anna had her young girls to think about, and I didn't blame her for wanting to take them far away from danger. We struggled with the decision; I didn't want to be away from them during this potentially catastrophic event, but in the end our needs were different and I held firm about my position and tried my best to convince her I would be perfectly fine on my own.
So I stayed at her house while she left, along with many others. Never have I seen so many Floridians flee the state and then, when it was too late to get out of Florida, left their communities in a desperate attempt to get to safer ground. But at a certain point there was just nowhere to hide. Irma was wider than Florida, would have covered Texas, even, and was on track to roar up the entire length of our state, which is exactly what she did. But for nearly a week before, we watched and worried and planned and re-planned, not knowing quite how seriously to take the worst-case-scenario forecasts, as Tampa has a history of near misses, avoiding the worst impact of the big hurricanes that have hit various surrounding parts of the state over the decades.Some time on Friday afternoon I heard on the news that an evacuation was ordered for Zone A, where I (thought I) lived. We had until the next evening to be evacuated, but I got nervous, packed some bags, prepared my home as best I could (basically, I moved things away from windows and unplugged electronics), and booked it to Anna's house.
For the rest of the story, I offer mostly photos of my personal experience with the storm, which I hope does not come across as insensitive to the experience of others who endured much worse.
Friday: time on my hands. Aside from painting my nails to kill time, I filled every viable container I could find with filtered water—about seven refillable water bottles, the rice cooker pot, a large steel pot, a party ice bucket, and two pitchers—in addition to a couple dozen bottles of water my sister and brother-in-law had already bought and two gallons I brought over. I probably had enough for the neighborhood, had we needed any of it. The food situation was similar; plenty of nonperishables to last about a couple of weeks if I rationed. I learned a lot about rationing from the book Alas, Babylon, by Pat Frank, one of the most memorable books I've read to date. It's a fictional account of nuclear fallout in the Cold War era and takes place in the Orlando area—where I lived when I read it--and it made me think about resourcefulness in a way that I'd never had to before and have never ceased to since. Needless to say, the book was on my mind, even though we weren't facing an apocalypse (although it felt like it to many).
Last meals. It was hard to tell when the storm was actually going to hit, or when the power might go out, so for three nights I made "last meals." In those three nights, I had more wine than I'd had in the prior three months (granted, in those three months I'd had virtually no wine as part of my anti-inflammatory recovery diet). So I was feeling pretty giddy after just a glass.
Saturday morning: preparations begin. Creative use of perishables. Plus, busyness. The bananas were obviously going, and I also used about a half-dozen eggs. I spoke to so many people after the storm who also said they baked or cooked, partly to use up perishable food items, but also to ease anxiety.
They look much better than they were, which, by the way, were paleo banana chocolate chip muffins. It was the first time I'd had chocolate in over three months. So if I had to endure the rest of the muffin to enjoy them, I would. I think these actually would have been really good without the coconut oil. It was too strong and gave them an pungent taste. But I considered them survival food and kept them around anyway.
I gathered some selections of readings from each family member, in case I lost electricity and found myself with about five weeks to read. Scouring the bookshelves gave me interesting insight into the people I already know best in the world, and none of it was particularly surprising. My sister has been studying anthropology for years (and will soon have her PhD!), and my brother-in-law is always reading books on management and leadership topics. I found common ground in the food books, of course. And my nieces' books were specific selections from them that I'd asked for. Had I read any of them, I would have read those first.
Under the blanket: a keyboard I donated to my niece, who has probably learned more in two weeks than I ever did in 10+ years of having it. Definitely worth protecting. I'm just now noticing that I did nothing to protect the much more fragile grandfather's clock in the corner, which actually belonged to our grandfather. Hindsight.
With one-quarter of the surface of the dining room table covered in a blanket and a couple of beach towels thrown over a couple of chairs against the window, I felt pretty satisfied with my work.
I felt most compelled to protect the girls' room, to protect them from anything bad that they might come back to. So on my tender feet, I moved furniture in ways that I definitely shouldn't have but couldn't with any conscience avoid.
Sunday morning: final preparations. Since I was feeling triumphant about moving mattresses, I thought, may as well do one more. Feet be damned. (And they were.)
It's hard to see, but this is the girls' fairy garden, which is part of the larger backyard garden. There were lots of heavy potted plants that I thought about moving into the garage, but I knew it would be too much on my feet, so I thought if I had to choose one thing, this should be it.
This was my worst-case-scenario plan. Pretty much the only place without windows.
But this was my actual plan, my sister and brother-in-law's closet, which I made pretty cozy, considering the circumstances.
A sign of normalcy. In my regular texts with my sister and the girls, I wanted to communicate that everything was fine and normal. When I watch the girls on occasion, we have popcorn while we watch a movie. So for their sake (not really, I just wanted popcorn), I sent this photo Sunday evening.
Sunday evening: Things started to look better for Tampa—the storm was turning eastward and diminishing in strength—so I changed my location to the living room and tried to "fort" myself in. I thought the girls might like this. There was hardly a moment they weren't on my mind.
I settled in for the night, again, sending a reassuring photo to Anna and fam. It was really hard for them to be away and to give the girls a "vacation" experience when they were constantly worried about what was going on at home.
The morning after. Monday morning, after having gotten a decent amount of sleep (on the couch, where I decided I was safe enough and more comfortable than on the floor), I got up to assess the damage. I still had electricity and water and the windows and roof were intact. My biggest worries were abated. The most "damage" was lots of debris from a neighbor's giant oak tree, and some tipping over of plants in the garden. But overall I was amazed at how well the garden structures held up in the powerful winds.
After having sat around feeling anxious for days, I really needed to get out and do something, even if, once again, it wasn't good for my foot. So I took a rake to the backyard and cleaned up all the oak tree debris. It felt so good to be useful in those hours when, prior to that, I'd felt pretty helpless. I had to take breaks in between raking and bagging to ice my foot, and thankfully I had tons of ice. It was my biggest concern if the electricity were to go out; my foot was still very swollen and often the pain from that was only alleviated by icing it. I'd even prepared a cooler filled with ice—ice I'd bought from the store, ice I'd prepared in baggies filled with water, and ice from the icemaker in the freezer, which I constantly emptied so it would produce more—just in case the electricity went out over night. Fortunately I didn't need any of it.
A proud sight if I ever saw one. I have no yard at home—haven't for most of my adult life, and hence no yard work to do, so I felt very accomplished and please with myself. Were I to do this on a regular basis, however, I'm sure my sentiment would be different.
My plan when severe weather is forecast to for Tampa is always to go to my sister's house, as the area I live in is highly flood prone and she is on higher ground. This time was no exception; however, her plan was different. She wanted to leave, head north, get out of the state, and she wanted me to go with her and the rest of the family. But I was not in a place to pack up and leave. I had real concerns about my foot recovery; I was about eight weeks post-surgery and very newly out of the boot and in a shoe. I still needed to elevate and ice frequently, and I knew that a long car ride, to somewhere uncertain that may not have the amenities I needed, would be extremely difficult to endure. I also knew that Anna had her young girls to think about, and I didn't blame her for wanting to take them far away from danger. We struggled with the decision; I didn't want to be away from them during this potentially catastrophic event, but in the end our needs were different and I held firm about my position and tried my best to convince her I would be perfectly fine on my own.
So I stayed at her house while she left, along with many others. Never have I seen so many Floridians flee the state and then, when it was too late to get out of Florida, left their communities in a desperate attempt to get to safer ground. But at a certain point there was just nowhere to hide. Irma was wider than Florida, would have covered Texas, even, and was on track to roar up the entire length of our state, which is exactly what she did. But for nearly a week before, we watched and worried and planned and re-planned, not knowing quite how seriously to take the worst-case-scenario forecasts, as Tampa has a history of near misses, avoiding the worst impact of the big hurricanes that have hit various surrounding parts of the state over the decades.Some time on Friday afternoon I heard on the news that an evacuation was ordered for Zone A, where I (thought I) lived. We had until the next evening to be evacuated, but I got nervous, packed some bags, prepared my home as best I could (basically, I moved things away from windows and unplugged electronics), and booked it to Anna's house.
For the rest of the story, I offer mostly photos of my personal experience with the storm, which I hope does not come across as insensitive to the experience of others who endured much worse.
Friday: time on my hands. Aside from painting my nails to kill time, I filled every viable container I could find with filtered water—about seven refillable water bottles, the rice cooker pot, a large steel pot, a party ice bucket, and two pitchers—in addition to a couple dozen bottles of water my sister and brother-in-law had already bought and two gallons I brought over. I probably had enough for the neighborhood, had we needed any of it. The food situation was similar; plenty of nonperishables to last about a couple of weeks if I rationed. I learned a lot about rationing from the book Alas, Babylon, by Pat Frank, one of the most memorable books I've read to date. It's a fictional account of nuclear fallout in the Cold War era and takes place in the Orlando area—where I lived when I read it--and it made me think about resourcefulness in a way that I'd never had to before and have never ceased to since. Needless to say, the book was on my mind, even though we weren't facing an apocalypse (although it felt like it to many).
Last meals. It was hard to tell when the storm was actually going to hit, or when the power might go out, so for three nights I made "last meals." In those three nights, I had more wine than I'd had in the prior three months (granted, in those three months I'd had virtually no wine as part of my anti-inflammatory recovery diet). So I was feeling pretty giddy after just a glass.
Saturday morning: preparations begin. Creative use of perishables. Plus, busyness. The bananas were obviously going, and I also used about a half-dozen eggs. I spoke to so many people after the storm who also said they baked or cooked, partly to use up perishable food items, but also to ease anxiety.
They look much better than they were, which, by the way, were paleo banana chocolate chip muffins. It was the first time I'd had chocolate in over three months. So if I had to endure the rest of the muffin to enjoy them, I would. I think these actually would have been really good without the coconut oil. It was too strong and gave them an pungent taste. But I considered them survival food and kept them around anyway.
I gathered some selections of readings from each family member, in case I lost electricity and found myself with about five weeks to read. Scouring the bookshelves gave me interesting insight into the people I already know best in the world, and none of it was particularly surprising. My sister has been studying anthropology for years (and will soon have her PhD!), and my brother-in-law is always reading books on management and leadership topics. I found common ground in the food books, of course. And my nieces' books were specific selections from them that I'd asked for. Had I read any of them, I would have read those first.
Under the blanket: a keyboard I donated to my niece, who has probably learned more in two weeks than I ever did in 10+ years of having it. Definitely worth protecting. I'm just now noticing that I did nothing to protect the much more fragile grandfather's clock in the corner, which actually belonged to our grandfather. Hindsight.
With one-quarter of the surface of the dining room table covered in a blanket and a couple of beach towels thrown over a couple of chairs against the window, I felt pretty satisfied with my work.
I felt most compelled to protect the girls' room, to protect them from anything bad that they might come back to. So on my tender feet, I moved furniture in ways that I definitely shouldn't have but couldn't with any conscience avoid.
Sunday morning: final preparations. Since I was feeling triumphant about moving mattresses, I thought, may as well do one more. Feet be damned. (And they were.)
It's hard to see, but this is the girls' fairy garden, which is part of the larger backyard garden. There were lots of heavy potted plants that I thought about moving into the garage, but I knew it would be too much on my feet, so I thought if I had to choose one thing, this should be it.
This was my worst-case-scenario plan. Pretty much the only place without windows.
But this was my actual plan, my sister and brother-in-law's closet, which I made pretty cozy, considering the circumstances.
A sign of normalcy. In my regular texts with my sister and the girls, I wanted to communicate that everything was fine and normal. When I watch the girls on occasion, we have popcorn while we watch a movie. So for their sake (not really, I just wanted popcorn), I sent this photo Sunday evening.
Sunday evening: Things started to look better for Tampa—the storm was turning eastward and diminishing in strength—so I changed my location to the living room and tried to "fort" myself in. I thought the girls might like this. There was hardly a moment they weren't on my mind.
I settled in for the night, again, sending a reassuring photo to Anna and fam. It was really hard for them to be away and to give the girls a "vacation" experience when they were constantly worried about what was going on at home.
The morning after. Monday morning, after having gotten a decent amount of sleep (on the couch, where I decided I was safe enough and more comfortable than on the floor), I got up to assess the damage. I still had electricity and water and the windows and roof were intact. My biggest worries were abated. The most "damage" was lots of debris from a neighbor's giant oak tree, and some tipping over of plants in the garden. But overall I was amazed at how well the garden structures held up in the powerful winds.
After having sat around feeling anxious for days, I really needed to get out and do something, even if, once again, it wasn't good for my foot. So I took a rake to the backyard and cleaned up all the oak tree debris. It felt so good to be useful in those hours when, prior to that, I'd felt pretty helpless. I had to take breaks in between raking and bagging to ice my foot, and thankfully I had tons of ice. It was my biggest concern if the electricity were to go out; my foot was still very swollen and often the pain from that was only alleviated by icing it. I'd even prepared a cooler filled with ice—ice I'd bought from the store, ice I'd prepared in baggies filled with water, and ice from the icemaker in the freezer, which I constantly emptied so it would produce more—just in case the electricity went out over night. Fortunately I didn't need any of it.
A proud sight if I ever saw one. I have no yard at home—haven't for most of my adult life, and hence no yard work to do, so I felt very accomplished and please with myself. Were I to do this on a regular basis, however, I'm sure my sentiment would be different.
Reunion. Once my sister and her family were able to drive back—which wasn't immediately after the storm because there were fuel shortages throughout the state for a few days after the storm—we finally were reunited at a Friday night dinner. I'm not sure I've ever been so happy to see them. The girls were excited to show me their New Orleans beads and tell me about their trip.
They also got me these gifts. My own bead necklace, which is made of beautiful water glass, and a tiny statue of an angel, which the girls explained, with mild prompting from their mom, was a guardian angel because I looked over their house. And of course I melted. But really, they were the ones, along with the rest of my family, who kept me going, kept me positive and occupied during a very fearful time, even from a distance.
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