Fay go Away!

If you've been through a direct hit by a category three or four hurricane -- if you've been hit directly by three major hurricanes in 18 months and lived under the imminent threat of several more, you've learned to take them seriously. As with many possibilities of disaster, the waiting is the worst part.

We cut short a cruise this weekend, coming northward up the Indian River as the sun set; gliding into the Manatee Pocket in the dark, the shore lit up with points of light like holiday decorations from houses and marinas and restaurants and resorts, the engines rumbling softly at idle as the full moon rose pumpkin orange in the east, it was tempting to feel profound awe and reverie and indeed I did, although the mood was deeply eroded by the possibility of yet another of nature's screaming tantrums.

And so we sit and wait and pull up the National Hurricane Center's report again although we know it will be the same as it was ten minutes ago and hope that Fay will somehow continue to drift westward and stay away from my house, my boat and all the things people hold dear and that hurricanes love to smash and scatter.

So I'll make one last trip in the rain, making sure we have gas for the generator, that the spider web of dock lines are properly set, that my prescriptions are filled, the emergency batteries for the Amateur radio equipment are charged and then, with little else to do, I will take some aspirin for the headache, tums for the heartburn, blog a bit for the anxiety -- and wait.