The final reports from my family up the coast are in. One cousin lost a section of his roof, another lost merely soffits under the eaves. Still another, who was up in the heaviest weather, lost nothing. My brother lost his pool enclosure, his big tree and his mother in law.

I'm off to her funeral.

Whee.

Here's the stats: Hours without power- 25; Hours without phone service - 6-10 (I'm not sure when it went off, or when it came back on. But it was on at 9 this morning and off by noon, first phone call came around 7 tonight.)Trees down in my yard - none, branches many. Billboard across the street - down.

But the RLA and I went through Andrew, so we know what to do. Let me rephrase that: I know what to do. I sleep. Deep, profound, glorious sleep such as can only be had in a very dark, very quiet room. Wind and rain do not, in my opinion, constitute noise. Even loud wind and rain. The RLA likes to go out and play in the weather. He even rode his bicycle around the neighborhood yesterday during one of my naps. I also read a wonderful book (just a little bit of a ghost story) by candle light.

We put on the generator, and the koi had air and a working fountain. They were happy.

This morning, I lit the gas stove (not the camp stove, my big ass restaurant style gas stove) using a match, and boiled water in my vintage Michael Graves teapot, and made coffee in the Bodum French press. We are civilized people here, dammit.

And that, friends is how I spent my last 4 days.

As Hurricane Frances bears down on the South Florida coast, giving weathermen* no clue as to where she'll make landfall, I'd like to share some of my family's hurricane history.

1935- Or '34, by the time my father told me this story, he couldn't remember the date. It was the big monster that destroyed the overseas railroad (Flagler's Folly) to the Keys. It was the height of the depression, and there were veterans working on the building the overseas highway. My father was a teenager, and he was recruited in the aftermath of the storm (coincidentally, a Labor Day storm)to help with the clean up. He told me it was horrible. "We were pulling the bodies out of the trees." He always took hurricanes seriously.

1948 or 49 - My brother was a baby, and my parents lived in a little apartment in downtown Stuart. They had to evacuate during the storm. When they came back, the window over my brother's crib had been broken, the lace curtain torn to shreds, neatly braided and a knot tied in the end. By the storm winds. We still have it.

1964 or 65 - My brother goes out after a storm with his buddy on the buddy's motorcycle. They hit debris. My brother destroys his kneecap and is in a hip cast for months. It was the only time he ever got an "A" in phys.ed. He was handing out towels. I'd laugh more, but the only time I ever got an "A" in phys.ed. was the semester I broke a toe and handed out towels. I got the last laugh, though. I later had to have my shoulder repaired due to sports injury.

1969 - I am in marine science summer camp on Big Pine Key. Hurricane Camille passes by Key West on its way to making history and landfall. The camp is almost evacuated, but Camille moves south and west of the Keys. We spend the night in the mess hall. It was great...for us, not so great for Mississippi.

1979 - Still another Labor Day storm, Hurricane David was due to come up the Miami River when I went to bed. I was living in an apartment in the Gables, and had been in a major car wreck the day before. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do to protect myself. I couldn't even put tape on the windows. I just went to bed and hoped for the best. When I woke up, the sun was shining and there were just a couple of tree limbs down. I thought maybe it was the eye of the storm. But no. David had made a sudden, unpredicted turn to the north, scraped the coast, and came ashore in my hometown of Stuart. My friend's parents lost 8 feet of yard from behind their seawall due to storm surge up the St. Lucie River.

1992 - Hurricane Andrew. We were renting a townhouse in what would become known as the devestation zone. The trees on my street were all at a 45 degree angle the next morning. The church around the corner had exploded. The building on the corner had one wall sheared off and desks sticking out of the holes. The 18 wheelers at the moving company were on their sides. The brand new Lincoln Towncar that had been parked in our complex for safety became the Crushed Lincoln Cafe, where we all met and had communal meals for a week or so until the power came back on. I went to work the next day, after the storm hit, and brought ice and water back to my neighbors every day. I also went to Homestead 3 days after the storm, to photograph the delivery of a mobile medical unit to the tent city. The tent city that was next to where the mobile home park had been, up until 3 days prior.

Today, the RLA and I put up the shutters, took in the patio furniture, moved all loose plants against the fences, made sure our hurricane supplies were topped off, bought a couple extra packs of cigarettes, and generally made sure we were ready for the worst. Or as ready as we can be.

These things are monsters, even the little ones, and anyone who lives in Florida and doesn't take them seriously is a fool.
* Sometimes, you DO need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

I think. Maybe. Possibly. Who knows. I did go to the polls, I did sign in, and I did poke the touch-screen, which did light up appropriately. Whether or not that actually correlates to the recorded blip in the data stream is a matter for debate.

A debate, I am proud to say, that I had with the poll workers. I told them I wanted a paper trail. I told them that as someone who works all day, every day with computers, I no more trust them than I trust the lying sack of shit that is my ex-husband. Or the lying sack of shit that is the current President of the United States.

OK, I didn't really say that. I just said that I didn't trust the machines or the companies that make the machines.
As for the bread and circuses going on in New York City, the RLA wants to watch, so he knows what the enemy is doing. I can't watch it at all. I can't listen to NPR, or read the paper. The spin, and the lies, and the hate are too much for me.

I despair over my country. I have never been a flag-waving, my country right or wrong kind of American. I have hidden my face in shame at how we portray ourselves to the world. I am leery of what we pass off as culture. I've toyed with the thought of being an ex-patriot on any number of occasions in my life.

But. And it is a huge but. For all the faults that I see, for all the things that make me not exactly proud to be an American, I understand that this is the freest country in the free world. As someone with opinions and the big mouth to express them, I know that I am better off in America than anywhere else.

However, with this president and the religous right that controls him, I don't believe that any more. I don't think I'm safe here. Not from the enemies without, but from the enemies within.

I am a Jew. And I believe that the "Christian" (intolerant) right that is pulling the puppets strings have plans for me. I believe that those plans include box cars, or the modern equivalent. I believe that this war in the Middle East is very much a holy war, on both sides. I believe that Bush believes that he is driving us to the Apocolypse and that that is a good thing.

I don't know about you, but I don't think that's a good thing at all. So do me and the rest of the world a favor, and go out and vote.

Lord knows I disparage my work place and co-workers with some frequency (and some cause) and even turn a blind eye when others do the same. But. There's something about seeing the CEO of the organization doing the same thing, in the press, and singling out your own department for particular scorn, that makes one uneasy.
What he said was that my department was "Mayberry, USA". I agree, but have to wonder which of the geniuses up the food chain from me is Barney Fife. Of course I’m prejudiced here, but my own PHB is number one with a bullet, I think. His boss is sort of Middle-Aged, Balding Ken Doll. I'd like to think of myself as Opie, albeit with blonde hair and a different gender. But Opie all the same: ingenuous, happy-go-lucky and believing in the inherent good in all people.

OK, so maybe not Opie. But certainly not Barney, and not Aunt Bea. Hmm. The more I ponder this, the less I want to be any of those characters. The one character I can relate to from that television era is more like Miss Whatshername, the tight ass who wasn’t really a tight ass on The Beverly Hillbillies. She was the voice of tolerance and reason there, wasn’t she?

I always wanted to be Jeannie. Maybe not BE Jeannie, per se, but certainly live in her bottle. And I wanted to wear the cool clothes she wore when she was being a genie, and not the faux-mod get-ups they put her in when she was out of her bottle.

I digress.

The baby quilt sold to a lovely fellow traveler from Atlanta. Thanks so much for making it happen.

I've put one of my quilts on e-bay as part of the MoveOn PAC virtual yard sale. Normally my work sells for hundreds of dollars, even the little guys like this adorable red, white and blue 1930s reproduction print baby quilt.


If you would like a chance to buy this quilt, it is currently on e-bay with a start price of only $25. Whatever the final sale price is, I will donate that money to MoveOn PAC.

There is only one day left on this auction, and so far, no bidders at all. This is a great opportunity to help dump Dubya, and buy one of my quilts for an insanely low price.

Take a peek at the auction.