For The Interest Of Ex-CBMers
photo 9:15 a.m. Sat 11 June (credit: NOAA)
I asked the checker, "Are you always this busy?" The carts behind me were piled high with flashlights, toilet paper, two-liters, loaves of white bread.
She pursed her lips and dragged my bottle of juice over the scanner, shaking her head. "Hurr'cayne."
For you non-Americans, as well as any geographically challenged non-Southrons, we're just about exactly underneath that white swirly thing in the picture. No evacuation warnings, but according to the radio traffic reports yesterday, the good people of Gulf Shores and Pensacola a few minutes east of here have fled to the north in mob strength. Apparently last year left its scars on the Gulf Coast psyche. We saw honest-to-God lines for gasoline last night. The evening of 9/11 was the only time this north'n boy can remember seeing those before. I was raised with tornadoes, but they never actually touched down anywhere you could see them personally, and besides, those duck-and-cover drills in school never had the feel of serious effectiveness anyway. So this all seems a bit alarmist to me. Of course, my house wasn't replaced by a sand dune last year. (A nod to our friend Paul.)
So here on the ship we spent yesterday tying everything down, although no one aboard expects much more than a hard rain. We put the battens on Hatch 1 and cradled the crane. The tenant across the way chained their port-o-john to a pole. Bill and i paddled the paint float across the inlet to bridge two mooring lines to the other side. (Never, ever try this for fun.) Our biggest danger is probably just of the chunks falling off our disintegrating warehouse. Not much new there. We'll bring the dog inside.
She pursed her lips and dragged my bottle of juice over the scanner, shaking her head. "Hurr'cayne."
For you non-Americans, as well as any geographically challenged non-Southrons, we're just about exactly underneath that white swirly thing in the picture. No evacuation warnings, but according to the radio traffic reports yesterday, the good people of Gulf Shores and Pensacola a few minutes east of here have fled to the north in mob strength. Apparently last year left its scars on the Gulf Coast psyche. We saw honest-to-God lines for gasoline last night. The evening of 9/11 was the only time this north'n boy can remember seeing those before. I was raised with tornadoes, but they never actually touched down anywhere you could see them personally, and besides, those duck-and-cover drills in school never had the feel of serious effectiveness anyway. So this all seems a bit alarmist to me. Of course, my house wasn't replaced by a sand dune last year. (A nod to our friend Paul.)
So here on the ship we spent yesterday tying everything down, although no one aboard expects much more than a hard rain. We put the battens on Hatch 1 and cradled the crane. The tenant across the way chained their port-o-john to a pole. Bill and i paddled the paint float across the inlet to bridge two mooring lines to the other side. (Never, ever try this for fun.) Our biggest danger is probably just of the chunks falling off our disintegrating warehouse. Not much new there. We'll bring the dog inside.
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