T'Bonz
TrekBBS Wench
I wrote this the night of the hurricane, on my then battery-operated laptop. That night, I really felt the urge to write and get down how it was to go through Wilma. This was what it was like for me to go through a major hurricane.
We were one of the very lucky ones who got power back yesterday, after 2 1/2 days without it. We had January weather (VERY fortunate since we had no air conditioning) and weathered it well, with adequate food and both a mini-barbeque and several small propane gas rings (VERY smart buy!!!)
Here you go.
* *
Waiting for Wilma.
Wilma was forecast to hit South Florida a week ahead of time. The forecast was almost spot on accurate when it finally arrived, after first thrashing the Yucatan, bringing two days of category four hell to Cozumel and Cancun.
The storm was delayed in arriving, stalling briefly and traveling slower than expected. The extra several days of waiting was both agonizing and useful. It was agonizing to watch, to wait, to wonder, putting one’s life somewhat on hold. Yet the delay gave needed time to stock up on supplies and to prepare. Most South Floridians only needed to top off their supplies, as two prior hurricanes had either hit or threatened the area only weeks before and most had bought their hurricane supplies either right before those storms, or at the beginning of hurricane season.
The weather turned sultry ahead of the storm, reverting back to summer heat and humidity, as if to remind us that these types of hurricanes usually strike in the summer months of August and September. The forecast for after the passage of the hurricane was for unseasonably cold weather, more typical of December. The joke around town was that at least if one lost one’s power (and air conditioning), then one would be able to sleep well at least.
Finally, the hurricane, exactly as predicted, arrived at Florida’s doorstep. As has become our habit in the past two years, we prepared to hunker down. Shutters were installed and/or closed. The sounds of drills were heard around the neighborhood as those without shutters installed plywood in hopes of protecting windows and sliding glass doors.
I brought my mother over from her condominium to be with us during this storm. My brother also came over to our house, taking the other spare bedroom. I spoke to my sister in Naples and wished her luck. She had elected to remain in Naples, like many Floridians who are not in evacuation zones who only evacuate for a category four or five hurricane.
Finally, night arrived and all that could be done had been done. We watched news and hurricane coverage, or tried to forget that Wilma was bearing down on us. Many went outside for the last time before the storm hit, knowing that we would be cooped up for hours and unable to leave the house.
The Wrath of Wilma
As South Florida waited, on Sunday evening, Wilma’s first bands began to be felt. Winds increased, rain spattered against the shutters, making a pinging noise on aluminum shutters. At this point, it was much like any other summer storm.
The storm grew stronger. We went to bed, hoping to snatch a few hours sleep before the full force of Wilma struck. Sleep was difficult, in spite of fatigue, because instead of the category one most had been expecting, we had been told that it was now probable that a category two hurricane would hit southeast Florida. It was quite possible that Wilma would be a category three when it crossed to the east coast from its initial landfall just south of Naples. A category three hurricane has winds of over one hundred and ten miles per hour, a formidable wind speed.
But we managed to catch several hours of sleep before the hurricane winds of Wilma began to be heard, around six-thirty a.m. on Monday morning. We woke up hearing the strong winds. We listened and then decided it was time to get up, get dressed and get ready for whatever Wilma would bring. Coffee was brewed and breakfast eaten, in full awareness that by the next day, the capacity to use the microwave or coffeemaker would most probably not be there.
It began to get noisy outside and we watched television, trying to keep busy and to not think about what was going on outside. Some of us read, my mother sewed. I was online reading every scrap of information I could on Wilma, trying to figure out what to expect. Power began to flicker, the first of many times that day.
The wind began to make the noise that only a hurricane can make, and occasionally one would hear something slamming against the shutters or house. Looking through the tiny windows in the garage, one could see the gusts and the beginning of the demise of most of the neighborhood trees, including my beloved one out front. Digital photos were snapped from the safety of the garage, and quickly uploaded and shared. To our dismay, some of our newly-purchased and installed permanent shutters, which are the type which one pulls shut and locks, came open. My husband shut them, and we cursed the company from whom we bought them and who installed them in August.
The eye, in this hurricane a huge beast, passed over our area and the winds died down to negligible gusts. Curious and feeling cooped up, the entire household made a beeline for the street.
The damage to the trees and plants was already pronounced. Men with chainsaws were making short work of tree branches which had crashed down onto vehicles. Photos were taken, exclamations at the damage were made and most took a quick walk to survey the scene. In something rare for South Florida, many people were outside, talking, working, enjoying the brief respite from the howling winds.
The brief calm lasted about fifteen minutes. People scurried back inside as the winds picked up again. My brother and I were across the street looking across a canal at a portable classroom that was tilted on its side and looking as if it were about to fall in the canal, when I felt the winds rise. We hurried back towards the house, and I was obliged to hang onto a car briefly for balance as a strong gust hit. When it passed, we ran at top speed for the safety of the garage and shut the door.
By the time we got back to the living room, the respite was over. The back side of Wilma had arrived, the eye wall on the other side.
The back side of the storm was worse. Unknown things slammed into the house and shutters. Odd, frightening noises reminded us that a hurricane can destroy houses. We hoped and prayed that the house would remain intact. During the height of the winds, a downstairs sliding glass door shutter popped open, and my husband was obliged to go out in the storm and relock it. So in addition to the fear of what might happen to the house, which expressed itself in a stomach ache in my case, and pain in the case of others, there was the fear of the shutters popping open and THEN the hurricane winds invading and causing havoc.
Fortunately, this didn’t happen. That was the last shutter to pop open during the storm. But the thing that one dreads, if not as much as the house being damaged or destroyed, happened. The power went out, for good.
Now all we had for company was the howling and the winds, and our unspoken fear. We scrambled to turn on our battery-operated lantern, and I turned on my miniature television, a purchase right before Hurricane Andrew in 1992. We waited for the storm to end, hoping the house would be okay and wishing the power would return.
The winds began to die down as the storm continued on its northeastern path. With no power, we decided to take naps, as most of us had had less than four hours of sleep, if that.
After the Storm:
The worst of the storm had passed. The house was still intact. We knew from the news that some had lost roofs and were profoundly grateful that our house appeared to be intact. The neighborhood was filled with the sound of chainsaws and again, everyone had taken to the streets.
As during the calm, people were removing downed trees and tree limbs. The magnitude of the damage was astonishing. The only good news was that housing damage appeared to be minimal, at least in our neighborhood. We lost our porch light, our neighbor lost roofing tiles, my next door neighbor lost her mailbox (while inexplicably, our mailbox, on the same post, still stood) and some cars had minor damage.
We oohed and ahhed at the damage, comparing it to previous hurricanes. The neighbors (including my husband) worked to clear the trees that blocked the road. People tentatively went out in their cars, including my brother and I. Our mission was to check his apartment and my mother’s condominium.
My brother’s apartment came through unscathed. Like in our neighborhood, his had been denuded of trees, and the smell of wood permeated the air, putting one in mind of the smell at a construction site of new homes. Trees littered the ground (and occasionally a car) and people walked about, talking, enjoying the freedom of being able to go outside, and snapping pictures.
Satisfied, we proceeded to our mother’s condominium. We were shocked at the damage, our neighborhood looked very different without the many trees that had the day before landscaped it. We saw signs down and some still standing but tilted or twisted at a crazy angle. The gas station on the corner had several pumps lying on their sides on the ground. Traffic lights had been ruthlessly stripped from their electrical cords, crashing to the ground and looking much larger close up then they do when hanging high above one.
Traffic proceeded cautiously in the absence of traffic signals. Drivers for the most part treated the intersections as four way stops, as they were supposed to do. The slow driving also facilitated more gawking at damage, from the twisted wreckage of screened pool enclosure, to the poles and lights now resting on the ground.
My mother’s condominium complex, an older set of buildings constructed in approximately nineteen seventy-two, had sustained more damage than anything we had seen. Each building had eight end units per building and around eight to ten units not on the end. Of the end units, four were on each side of a building, two on the first floor, two on the second. On average, four of the eight of every building had had their windows blown completely out. Shredded draperies fluttered forlornly in the breeze. A large painting rested on the ground outside, with no clue as to from where it had flown.
We looked at Mom’s car, which was undamaged, to our relief. Climbing the stairs to the second story, we saw small damage, hall lights down, and panes of glass from the jalousie doors on the ground. To our dismay, in front of our mother’s door, there were several broken jalousie glass panels. It is possible that the light which had crashed down from the ceiling of the hallway had slammed into her door and broke the glass. Hers was not the only door with broken glass though, so who knew for sure?
I opened the door, dreading what I would find inside. But other than some glass and leaves and water and a bent set of mini-blinds (which covered the front door), she had no damage. We cleaned up and used duct tape and cardboard to board up the door on the inside until the panes could be replaced.
She took the news rather well when we returned home. On my part, I was relieved that I had insisted she come to my house for the storm. She was very frightened during the hurricane, and had she gone through it alone, with breaking glass? I didn’t want to think about what that scenario would have been like.
Later we brought her over to see it herself. She saw how many screened-in porches (hers is screened in but with rolldown shutters) were destroyed, including those of neighbors on her floor. We spoke with her elderly neighbor, who had had two windows blow out (being on an end unit) and felt both helplessness in not being able to do anything practical for her, and on my part, anger at her own children who lived ten minutes away and first let a ninety-five year old woman ride out a major hurricane alone and then when it was done, had not come to take care of her.
I was profoundly grateful that my mom had not got the end unit she had wanted. It had been sold out from under us last fall. I was reminded anew that everything happens for a purpose and that sometimes we get to see why.
We came home to a house without electricity. As evening approached, the only sound heard other than crickets and a few barking dogs, was a new one, the hum of generators powering a modest amount of electricity for those fortunate enough to have them. We were lucky though, as the promised cold front had finally arrived, and it was downright chilly for October. It was the biggest break we got from Mother Nature. Given what she had done to us in sending Wilma, I felt it was the least she could have done.
To pass the time, we played games. My mother, brother and I played Yahtzee. We are ruthless, profane players, and had great fun. It struck me that it was kind of sad that it took the loss of power to get us to do this. Normally, Eric and I would be online and watching TV and Mom would be watching TV, online or sewing. In other words, we would be in the same room, but in our separate worlds.
And so it went for the neighborhood too. People who normally hole up in their own personal spaces, watching TV or going online, were forced outside. Kids played and rode bikes, adults talked. We interacted. I realize that no matter how much I love TV and the Internet, as a society, it has a negative side, in that we have become more isolated from one another because of them.
Eric and I decided to take a nighttime walk. Unknowingly, we were breaking curfew. Armed with a flashlight and wearing closed-in shoes (to prevent foot injuries), we strolled in the pitch-black night. It was amazing. I felt like I was on an alien planet. It was totally dark outside other than lanterns, candles, flashlights or the occasional lit room of a family with a generator. No neon store signs, no lights blazing from houses, no bright street lights, nothing.
It was eerie. And it had a wonderful benefit, for the first and only time in this neighborhood, I could see many, many stars! With no artificial lights with which to compete, the stars put on their own light show. We could even see the Milky Way. I happily pointed out the handful of constellations I know and wished anew that I lived in a small town where one could see the stars like this all of the time.
I felt so strange. Was I in shock? The stress of waiting, the frenzy of preparation, sitting through the actual storm, seeing real damage, including some house damage in my own city, was shocking and upsetting. The experience had changed me, as all major ones do. I had survived not only a minor hurricane, but a major one. The winds had howled and raged around my house, had even tried their best to get in, forcing open our supposedly secure shutters, but in the end, the house had held. This was due to the fortunate fact that Wilma was a category two-three and not a four or five. Of course, had it been projected to be a four, we would have left and not experienced it personally. But it had been predicted to be a one or two, and so we had stayed home.
I feel different. I feared briefly for my safety and life, however irrational the fear may have been. I got through it though and emerged with a greater sense of the fragility of human life and the joy of being alive and well. I saw my neighborhood landscape changed and realized that it would never look like it did again. I saw damage with my own eyes, people’s apartments ransacked by winds which snatched their window glass out of the frame and then strewed their possessions any and everywhere. I saw it, not on TV as a detached if interested viewer, not in a magazine or newspaper article, but in my own neighborhood and in person.
That changes one.
And I have a new appreciation for the wrath of a hurricane. I used to like a mild one, but an unfortunate aftereffect of this storm is that I can honestly say I never want to go through a hurricane again. I’ve been through Andrew, Frances, Jeanne, Katrina and a brush with both Dennis and Rita, but the ultimate experience was the direct hit of Wilma, the major hurricane. From now on, I’ll feel only dread if one approaches us, or pity for those who are in the path of one.
Next year, we plan to buy a generator. We had discussed it not long ago, agreeing to purchase it for next year (along with a one room window air conditioner.) We may not always be so “lucky†to have cool weather after a hurricane knocks out power. In fact, the odds are heavily against it, this was a fluke.
Aftermath:
Twenty-four hours ago, Wilma began her visit. It is quiet now, with no rain and only mild breezes. The birds are back, I can hear the crickets. My own birds are settled now, they were afraid of the storm too (my cockatiel sat on my shoulder, his crest high and body very tall, during the worst of Wilma). They sang in joy when we opened the shutters and sunlight streamed in. Part of me would like to think that they sensed that the danger was past, but in reality, they just like sunlight!
We watch the nonstop news coverage and curse the lack of real information. Do you REALLY think I want to know about the clueless morons who elected to stay in Key West? Or that their bars are opening? No, I want to know where Wilma exited, I know she came in south of Naples but not where she exited. I’d like to know that.
I don’t care about the fools on houseboats who also elected not to evacuate (and the one moron who had to be rescued from his own folly.) Tell me, please, how many are without power? I had to sit through two hours of blathering to get that data (98% of South Florida. For my county, 862,800 are out and as of this writing, ZERO have had it restored, in comparison to our sister counties which are just starting to get some back.)
I don’t care about the myriad “tree fall on car†or “pool enclosure ripped to shreds†shots and stories, that is meaningless information. We KNOW that happened, we can walk outside of our own front doors and see that. That is not “news†that will help their viewers, all of whom went through this. News is telling me when the public schools will open. I know it won’t be tomorrow, but Friday? Next week?
I don’t want to know about the “wealthy resort town†of Naples. No offense. I like Naples, I really do. But they got what we got, actually less not counting the storm surge, as they were on the clean side of the storm and we were on the dirty side.
I want to know how long FPL projects it’ll take to restore power. See, I’m living off of batteries and a propane fueled burner that slowly heats food. Will power be back today? Or Friday before it gets warm again and we need to use air conditioning? What if it’s longer? I have food for a week. It’s not great, but we’re not short. But if we go longer than a week and the grocery stores aren’t open, what will we do?
That is what is important to me. Not that Fantasyfest was canceled in Key West. No offense to the Conchs and their guests, but I need information, useful information. Not fluff stories on idiots who took chances and stayed, or tourists who were too stupid to get out when told to go, or what is happening in Naples, who has its own news stations. Do they broadcast stories about us in lieu of informing their own people of useful information?
I need news from Broward county, not Collier. We were the hardest hit county. Yet most of the news is from Collier, Miami-Dade, Monroe. I know they were all affected, but guys, we need information. And I can’t go on the ‘net to get it. Battery operated laptops are great for writing this, but with no wireless and no power, I can’t look up data myself. No Google in the dark.
So we wait. I’m changed by this forever. I’m humbled, thankful, weary and a survivor. Yeah, some have gone through worse. But this was no walk in the park. I’ll never be the same again. I will enjoy a lovely day with an appreciation that someone who has never sat trapped in a house while a hurricane blows around them will ever be able to appreciate. I will enjoy cold drinks, hot food, bright lights, television, the Internet again when they return with an appreciation that those who have never lost power for more than a brief time will know. I have learned some things about myself and about my neighbors during this that were interesting.
So I wait impatiently for our power to return and hope like hell it is not the “weeks†the FPL spokesperson said tonight. Please God, didn’t that mean “weeks†as in “it will take weeks to COMPLETE the repairs.� How will we cope if it’s more than a few days before it’s back? Even a few days without power fills me with dread. Yet if this is our lot, will I find a new appreciation for electricity and for our ancestors who had to live permanently without it?
You betcha. But I hope that it comes back soon, like by the time I wake up tomorrow. I hope that we never have a hurricane ever again in my town (however unlikely that is to get that wish,) or if we do, that it is a minor one. I will never, ever stay for a category four or five storm, if a strong two/three scares me like this, I absolutely cannot imagine the hell of a stronger one. No, actually I can. 1992, August 24, South Dade county. I’ve spoken to people who went though that, who huddled in closets as their houses came apart around them. No thank you.
I survived Wilma. It’s more than a slogan on a t-shirt that will probably soon appear everywhere, more than a bumper sticker for one’s car. I DID survive Wilma. It may or may never have been a true danger to me in reality, but emotionally, it was difficult. It gave me a new appreciation for what I have, a new insight into who I am and it gave me a new appreciation for my neighbors. I saw a side of them that I rarely get to see and it was nice to see the goodness of people instead of the selfishness which is far too often more common in people.
I survived Wilma. Pity that my favorite tree out front did not.
We were one of the very lucky ones who got power back yesterday, after 2 1/2 days without it. We had January weather (VERY fortunate since we had no air conditioning) and weathered it well, with adequate food and both a mini-barbeque and several small propane gas rings (VERY smart buy!!!)
Here you go.
* *
Waiting for Wilma.
Wilma was forecast to hit South Florida a week ahead of time. The forecast was almost spot on accurate when it finally arrived, after first thrashing the Yucatan, bringing two days of category four hell to Cozumel and Cancun.
The storm was delayed in arriving, stalling briefly and traveling slower than expected. The extra several days of waiting was both agonizing and useful. It was agonizing to watch, to wait, to wonder, putting one’s life somewhat on hold. Yet the delay gave needed time to stock up on supplies and to prepare. Most South Floridians only needed to top off their supplies, as two prior hurricanes had either hit or threatened the area only weeks before and most had bought their hurricane supplies either right before those storms, or at the beginning of hurricane season.
The weather turned sultry ahead of the storm, reverting back to summer heat and humidity, as if to remind us that these types of hurricanes usually strike in the summer months of August and September. The forecast for after the passage of the hurricane was for unseasonably cold weather, more typical of December. The joke around town was that at least if one lost one’s power (and air conditioning), then one would be able to sleep well at least.
Finally, the hurricane, exactly as predicted, arrived at Florida’s doorstep. As has become our habit in the past two years, we prepared to hunker down. Shutters were installed and/or closed. The sounds of drills were heard around the neighborhood as those without shutters installed plywood in hopes of protecting windows and sliding glass doors.
I brought my mother over from her condominium to be with us during this storm. My brother also came over to our house, taking the other spare bedroom. I spoke to my sister in Naples and wished her luck. She had elected to remain in Naples, like many Floridians who are not in evacuation zones who only evacuate for a category four or five hurricane.
Finally, night arrived and all that could be done had been done. We watched news and hurricane coverage, or tried to forget that Wilma was bearing down on us. Many went outside for the last time before the storm hit, knowing that we would be cooped up for hours and unable to leave the house.
The Wrath of Wilma
As South Florida waited, on Sunday evening, Wilma’s first bands began to be felt. Winds increased, rain spattered against the shutters, making a pinging noise on aluminum shutters. At this point, it was much like any other summer storm.
The storm grew stronger. We went to bed, hoping to snatch a few hours sleep before the full force of Wilma struck. Sleep was difficult, in spite of fatigue, because instead of the category one most had been expecting, we had been told that it was now probable that a category two hurricane would hit southeast Florida. It was quite possible that Wilma would be a category three when it crossed to the east coast from its initial landfall just south of Naples. A category three hurricane has winds of over one hundred and ten miles per hour, a formidable wind speed.
But we managed to catch several hours of sleep before the hurricane winds of Wilma began to be heard, around six-thirty a.m. on Monday morning. We woke up hearing the strong winds. We listened and then decided it was time to get up, get dressed and get ready for whatever Wilma would bring. Coffee was brewed and breakfast eaten, in full awareness that by the next day, the capacity to use the microwave or coffeemaker would most probably not be there.
It began to get noisy outside and we watched television, trying to keep busy and to not think about what was going on outside. Some of us read, my mother sewed. I was online reading every scrap of information I could on Wilma, trying to figure out what to expect. Power began to flicker, the first of many times that day.
The wind began to make the noise that only a hurricane can make, and occasionally one would hear something slamming against the shutters or house. Looking through the tiny windows in the garage, one could see the gusts and the beginning of the demise of most of the neighborhood trees, including my beloved one out front. Digital photos were snapped from the safety of the garage, and quickly uploaded and shared. To our dismay, some of our newly-purchased and installed permanent shutters, which are the type which one pulls shut and locks, came open. My husband shut them, and we cursed the company from whom we bought them and who installed them in August.
The eye, in this hurricane a huge beast, passed over our area and the winds died down to negligible gusts. Curious and feeling cooped up, the entire household made a beeline for the street.
The damage to the trees and plants was already pronounced. Men with chainsaws were making short work of tree branches which had crashed down onto vehicles. Photos were taken, exclamations at the damage were made and most took a quick walk to survey the scene. In something rare for South Florida, many people were outside, talking, working, enjoying the brief respite from the howling winds.
The brief calm lasted about fifteen minutes. People scurried back inside as the winds picked up again. My brother and I were across the street looking across a canal at a portable classroom that was tilted on its side and looking as if it were about to fall in the canal, when I felt the winds rise. We hurried back towards the house, and I was obliged to hang onto a car briefly for balance as a strong gust hit. When it passed, we ran at top speed for the safety of the garage and shut the door.
By the time we got back to the living room, the respite was over. The back side of Wilma had arrived, the eye wall on the other side.
The back side of the storm was worse. Unknown things slammed into the house and shutters. Odd, frightening noises reminded us that a hurricane can destroy houses. We hoped and prayed that the house would remain intact. During the height of the winds, a downstairs sliding glass door shutter popped open, and my husband was obliged to go out in the storm and relock it. So in addition to the fear of what might happen to the house, which expressed itself in a stomach ache in my case, and pain in the case of others, there was the fear of the shutters popping open and THEN the hurricane winds invading and causing havoc.
Fortunately, this didn’t happen. That was the last shutter to pop open during the storm. But the thing that one dreads, if not as much as the house being damaged or destroyed, happened. The power went out, for good.
Now all we had for company was the howling and the winds, and our unspoken fear. We scrambled to turn on our battery-operated lantern, and I turned on my miniature television, a purchase right before Hurricane Andrew in 1992. We waited for the storm to end, hoping the house would be okay and wishing the power would return.
The winds began to die down as the storm continued on its northeastern path. With no power, we decided to take naps, as most of us had had less than four hours of sleep, if that.
After the Storm:
The worst of the storm had passed. The house was still intact. We knew from the news that some had lost roofs and were profoundly grateful that our house appeared to be intact. The neighborhood was filled with the sound of chainsaws and again, everyone had taken to the streets.
As during the calm, people were removing downed trees and tree limbs. The magnitude of the damage was astonishing. The only good news was that housing damage appeared to be minimal, at least in our neighborhood. We lost our porch light, our neighbor lost roofing tiles, my next door neighbor lost her mailbox (while inexplicably, our mailbox, on the same post, still stood) and some cars had minor damage.
We oohed and ahhed at the damage, comparing it to previous hurricanes. The neighbors (including my husband) worked to clear the trees that blocked the road. People tentatively went out in their cars, including my brother and I. Our mission was to check his apartment and my mother’s condominium.
My brother’s apartment came through unscathed. Like in our neighborhood, his had been denuded of trees, and the smell of wood permeated the air, putting one in mind of the smell at a construction site of new homes. Trees littered the ground (and occasionally a car) and people walked about, talking, enjoying the freedom of being able to go outside, and snapping pictures.
Satisfied, we proceeded to our mother’s condominium. We were shocked at the damage, our neighborhood looked very different without the many trees that had the day before landscaped it. We saw signs down and some still standing but tilted or twisted at a crazy angle. The gas station on the corner had several pumps lying on their sides on the ground. Traffic lights had been ruthlessly stripped from their electrical cords, crashing to the ground and looking much larger close up then they do when hanging high above one.
Traffic proceeded cautiously in the absence of traffic signals. Drivers for the most part treated the intersections as four way stops, as they were supposed to do. The slow driving also facilitated more gawking at damage, from the twisted wreckage of screened pool enclosure, to the poles and lights now resting on the ground.
My mother’s condominium complex, an older set of buildings constructed in approximately nineteen seventy-two, had sustained more damage than anything we had seen. Each building had eight end units per building and around eight to ten units not on the end. Of the end units, four were on each side of a building, two on the first floor, two on the second. On average, four of the eight of every building had had their windows blown completely out. Shredded draperies fluttered forlornly in the breeze. A large painting rested on the ground outside, with no clue as to from where it had flown.
We looked at Mom’s car, which was undamaged, to our relief. Climbing the stairs to the second story, we saw small damage, hall lights down, and panes of glass from the jalousie doors on the ground. To our dismay, in front of our mother’s door, there were several broken jalousie glass panels. It is possible that the light which had crashed down from the ceiling of the hallway had slammed into her door and broke the glass. Hers was not the only door with broken glass though, so who knew for sure?
I opened the door, dreading what I would find inside. But other than some glass and leaves and water and a bent set of mini-blinds (which covered the front door), she had no damage. We cleaned up and used duct tape and cardboard to board up the door on the inside until the panes could be replaced.
She took the news rather well when we returned home. On my part, I was relieved that I had insisted she come to my house for the storm. She was very frightened during the hurricane, and had she gone through it alone, with breaking glass? I didn’t want to think about what that scenario would have been like.
Later we brought her over to see it herself. She saw how many screened-in porches (hers is screened in but with rolldown shutters) were destroyed, including those of neighbors on her floor. We spoke with her elderly neighbor, who had had two windows blow out (being on an end unit) and felt both helplessness in not being able to do anything practical for her, and on my part, anger at her own children who lived ten minutes away and first let a ninety-five year old woman ride out a major hurricane alone and then when it was done, had not come to take care of her.
I was profoundly grateful that my mom had not got the end unit she had wanted. It had been sold out from under us last fall. I was reminded anew that everything happens for a purpose and that sometimes we get to see why.
We came home to a house without electricity. As evening approached, the only sound heard other than crickets and a few barking dogs, was a new one, the hum of generators powering a modest amount of electricity for those fortunate enough to have them. We were lucky though, as the promised cold front had finally arrived, and it was downright chilly for October. It was the biggest break we got from Mother Nature. Given what she had done to us in sending Wilma, I felt it was the least she could have done.
To pass the time, we played games. My mother, brother and I played Yahtzee. We are ruthless, profane players, and had great fun. It struck me that it was kind of sad that it took the loss of power to get us to do this. Normally, Eric and I would be online and watching TV and Mom would be watching TV, online or sewing. In other words, we would be in the same room, but in our separate worlds.
And so it went for the neighborhood too. People who normally hole up in their own personal spaces, watching TV or going online, were forced outside. Kids played and rode bikes, adults talked. We interacted. I realize that no matter how much I love TV and the Internet, as a society, it has a negative side, in that we have become more isolated from one another because of them.
Eric and I decided to take a nighttime walk. Unknowingly, we were breaking curfew. Armed with a flashlight and wearing closed-in shoes (to prevent foot injuries), we strolled in the pitch-black night. It was amazing. I felt like I was on an alien planet. It was totally dark outside other than lanterns, candles, flashlights or the occasional lit room of a family with a generator. No neon store signs, no lights blazing from houses, no bright street lights, nothing.
It was eerie. And it had a wonderful benefit, for the first and only time in this neighborhood, I could see many, many stars! With no artificial lights with which to compete, the stars put on their own light show. We could even see the Milky Way. I happily pointed out the handful of constellations I know and wished anew that I lived in a small town where one could see the stars like this all of the time.
I felt so strange. Was I in shock? The stress of waiting, the frenzy of preparation, sitting through the actual storm, seeing real damage, including some house damage in my own city, was shocking and upsetting. The experience had changed me, as all major ones do. I had survived not only a minor hurricane, but a major one. The winds had howled and raged around my house, had even tried their best to get in, forcing open our supposedly secure shutters, but in the end, the house had held. This was due to the fortunate fact that Wilma was a category two-three and not a four or five. Of course, had it been projected to be a four, we would have left and not experienced it personally. But it had been predicted to be a one or two, and so we had stayed home.
I feel different. I feared briefly for my safety and life, however irrational the fear may have been. I got through it though and emerged with a greater sense of the fragility of human life and the joy of being alive and well. I saw my neighborhood landscape changed and realized that it would never look like it did again. I saw damage with my own eyes, people’s apartments ransacked by winds which snatched their window glass out of the frame and then strewed their possessions any and everywhere. I saw it, not on TV as a detached if interested viewer, not in a magazine or newspaper article, but in my own neighborhood and in person.
That changes one.
And I have a new appreciation for the wrath of a hurricane. I used to like a mild one, but an unfortunate aftereffect of this storm is that I can honestly say I never want to go through a hurricane again. I’ve been through Andrew, Frances, Jeanne, Katrina and a brush with both Dennis and Rita, but the ultimate experience was the direct hit of Wilma, the major hurricane. From now on, I’ll feel only dread if one approaches us, or pity for those who are in the path of one.
Next year, we plan to buy a generator. We had discussed it not long ago, agreeing to purchase it for next year (along with a one room window air conditioner.) We may not always be so “lucky†to have cool weather after a hurricane knocks out power. In fact, the odds are heavily against it, this was a fluke.
Aftermath:
Twenty-four hours ago, Wilma began her visit. It is quiet now, with no rain and only mild breezes. The birds are back, I can hear the crickets. My own birds are settled now, they were afraid of the storm too (my cockatiel sat on my shoulder, his crest high and body very tall, during the worst of Wilma). They sang in joy when we opened the shutters and sunlight streamed in. Part of me would like to think that they sensed that the danger was past, but in reality, they just like sunlight!
We watch the nonstop news coverage and curse the lack of real information. Do you REALLY think I want to know about the clueless morons who elected to stay in Key West? Or that their bars are opening? No, I want to know where Wilma exited, I know she came in south of Naples but not where she exited. I’d like to know that.
I don’t care about the fools on houseboats who also elected not to evacuate (and the one moron who had to be rescued from his own folly.) Tell me, please, how many are without power? I had to sit through two hours of blathering to get that data (98% of South Florida. For my county, 862,800 are out and as of this writing, ZERO have had it restored, in comparison to our sister counties which are just starting to get some back.)
I don’t care about the myriad “tree fall on car†or “pool enclosure ripped to shreds†shots and stories, that is meaningless information. We KNOW that happened, we can walk outside of our own front doors and see that. That is not “news†that will help their viewers, all of whom went through this. News is telling me when the public schools will open. I know it won’t be tomorrow, but Friday? Next week?
I don’t want to know about the “wealthy resort town†of Naples. No offense. I like Naples, I really do. But they got what we got, actually less not counting the storm surge, as they were on the clean side of the storm and we were on the dirty side.
I want to know how long FPL projects it’ll take to restore power. See, I’m living off of batteries and a propane fueled burner that slowly heats food. Will power be back today? Or Friday before it gets warm again and we need to use air conditioning? What if it’s longer? I have food for a week. It’s not great, but we’re not short. But if we go longer than a week and the grocery stores aren’t open, what will we do?
That is what is important to me. Not that Fantasyfest was canceled in Key West. No offense to the Conchs and their guests, but I need information, useful information. Not fluff stories on idiots who took chances and stayed, or tourists who were too stupid to get out when told to go, or what is happening in Naples, who has its own news stations. Do they broadcast stories about us in lieu of informing their own people of useful information?
I need news from Broward county, not Collier. We were the hardest hit county. Yet most of the news is from Collier, Miami-Dade, Monroe. I know they were all affected, but guys, we need information. And I can’t go on the ‘net to get it. Battery operated laptops are great for writing this, but with no wireless and no power, I can’t look up data myself. No Google in the dark.
So we wait. I’m changed by this forever. I’m humbled, thankful, weary and a survivor. Yeah, some have gone through worse. But this was no walk in the park. I’ll never be the same again. I will enjoy a lovely day with an appreciation that someone who has never sat trapped in a house while a hurricane blows around them will ever be able to appreciate. I will enjoy cold drinks, hot food, bright lights, television, the Internet again when they return with an appreciation that those who have never lost power for more than a brief time will know. I have learned some things about myself and about my neighbors during this that were interesting.
So I wait impatiently for our power to return and hope like hell it is not the “weeks†the FPL spokesperson said tonight. Please God, didn’t that mean “weeks†as in “it will take weeks to COMPLETE the repairs.� How will we cope if it’s more than a few days before it’s back? Even a few days without power fills me with dread. Yet if this is our lot, will I find a new appreciation for electricity and for our ancestors who had to live permanently without it?
You betcha. But I hope that it comes back soon, like by the time I wake up tomorrow. I hope that we never have a hurricane ever again in my town (however unlikely that is to get that wish,) or if we do, that it is a minor one. I will never, ever stay for a category four or five storm, if a strong two/three scares me like this, I absolutely cannot imagine the hell of a stronger one. No, actually I can. 1992, August 24, South Dade county. I’ve spoken to people who went though that, who huddled in closets as their houses came apart around them. No thank you.
I survived Wilma. It’s more than a slogan on a t-shirt that will probably soon appear everywhere, more than a bumper sticker for one’s car. I DID survive Wilma. It may or may never have been a true danger to me in reality, but emotionally, it was difficult. It gave me a new appreciation for what I have, a new insight into who I am and it gave me a new appreciation for my neighbors. I saw a side of them that I rarely get to see and it was nice to see the goodness of people instead of the selfishness which is far too often more common in people.
I survived Wilma. Pity that my favorite tree out front did not.
Am I supposed to be hurt that you didn't read it, yet felt the need to tell me you didn't read it? :mrgreen:
