Hurricane Helene

 Well, that was terrifying.
The storm that I mentioned in the last post turned into a Category 4 hurricane.  And all of the projected paths very consistently showed it making a direct hit on Tallahassee.

It would wobble a little to the east, a little to the west, but pretty much headed straight here.  I did everything I could - all the outside furniture moved inside, the freezer filled with water bottles, large jugs of water for flushing in the bathtub, another dozen kitty litter buckets of water for same - and for washing dishes, laundry, and myself - on the front deck.  I was figuring on being without power/electricity for at least a week.

After I had done everything I could think of, I spent as much time as possible at the museum.  Many of the volunteers are students and had gone home; others had chosen to evacuate, so they were short handed.  And so much had to be done - with the exception of the farm animals and the deer, all the animals were loaded into carriers (you think a house cat is hard?  Try a panther) and dragged indoors.  I got to do interesting things like be part of a wall (a line of us, holding blankets between us) to try to chase the wolves into their holding cages (thinking, of course, that it's a wolf, and I'm a monkey with a blanket, and what could possibly go wrong), snagging a couple of annoyed screech owls out of their box, and trundling across the museum grounds with a wagon load of turtles.

I decided that maybe I have earned my Florida Girl card.  I was digging a shallow trench in front of the alligator pond to try to divert the water a little and keep so much sand from washing into it, and really didn't think anything of it when the alligators (about 6 feet long) came over to see what was going on - about 4-5 feet away from me.  But honestly - there's a difference between an animal in hunting mode (cue the theme from "Jaws" here), and one that's going "Whatcha doing?  Maybe you have a fish for me?"

So that was all day Wednesday, and Thursday morning.  I decided to come home when some wind and rain bands came through, because sometimes trees come down in my driveway and I wanted to be able to get the car home and under cover.

After that, it was just a matter of waiting.  The damn storm slowed down, so what was supposed to be a projected afternoon landfall turned into 8 p.m., then 10, then 11.

I did not fear for my life.  The tremendous destruction comes from storm surge and flooding - and my house is on high ground.  The big danger would be a tree falling on the house.  But I was envisioning the yard, even in best-case scenario of no real damage.  I remember the entire 5 acres being knee to waist deep in yard debris, and the 20-something trees down.  And this year there would be no Bob to deal with it.

I did get tired of fretting about the chickens.  I kept telling myself that their coop is quite sturdy.  But was it sturdy enough to survive a tree fall?  And it's a plastic tool shed - would it be blown over and rolled across the yard?  I finally gave up, put down a sheet in the living room, dragged in the dog kennels, and moved the girls inside.

This did cause me a momentary panic during a rain band, when I heard something that sounded like water dripping in the living room.  It was the chickens pecking.

It was time for landfall (the eyewall hit around 11 p.m.)  The rains got heavy, the wind started to pick up, the power flickered - and that was it.  The storm had wobbled about a degree to the east - landfall was away from Tallahassee.

I feel gutted, and have a case of survivor's guilt.  It came ashore at almost the exact same place as the last two.  That's right - this area has had three hurricanes in 13 months (after going 170 *years* without a direct hit).  And the storm has worked its way up, causing unbelievable devastating damage.

Me?  I got nuthin'.  Power barely flickered.  Rain, but I've had harder summer downpours.  One tree down, poking over my driveway a little, but my wee chainsaw took care of that.

But somehow I couldn't unclench.  I moved the chickens back to their yard, and cleaned up after them - discovering that a combination of pine shavings and cat hair will really jam up a vacuum cleaner, so had to do some surgery there.  I put the cat carriers away (I had brought them from the barn to the house in case of emergency).  I took care of that tree.

I was still feeling the same way Saturday - so I went back to the museum, because they're still short handed.  Thank goodness, other than a ton of tree branches down and losing power for a day, there was no real damage.  But there is some aftermath to deal with.

That's just a fraction of the carriers.

I finally realized why I was still clenched up.  Back in our Halloween Howl days, we knew the techniques of scaring people.  You get them really tensed up, and then you can release that tension with the scare (the "BOO" moment).  But sometimes you would set up an area with nothing in it, just letting them walk through the woods at night, knowing that something was going to jump at them.  Then, when they were worked up, you'd set up an area with some obvious hiding spots - and then do nothing.  No release of the BOO!  Just more tension.

That's what happened to me.  I was, admittedly, deeply frightened.  Then nothing happened.  I never got the tension relief.  Finally, midday Saturday, I realized that I was safe, and I could feel both my body and my brain shutting down.  Unfortunately, I was still at work, finding it increasingly difficult to focus.  We were making up the diets.  I was at the meat station - the most involved one.  But simultaneously, I was helping the person doing the fox/bear/beaver station - a wonderful person from administration who had come in to help, but had of course never done this before, so I was talking her through it.  Somehow, I muddled through, came home, and crawled into the bath for awhile.

Today I have pretty much done diddly-squat.  I'm still getting the storm out of my system - in this case, literally.  When the museum closed on Wednesday, the cafe brought over hot dogs and pulled pork.  People had brought in boxes of chips and snack crackers and cookies, luncheon meat and cheese and loaves of bread.  Stress eating was at an all-time high.  I had more meat and white bread in those three days than I normally consume in 6 months, and I'm paying the price a bit.  But I'm back to salads and veggies and whole grains and things are settling down.

Most of my storm prep has been put away.  But those kitty litter bins of water on the front deck?  Heck with it - they're staying there.  I just emptied and put them all away only 6 weeks ago after Hurricane Debbie.  There are two months left in hurricane season, and at the moment there is *something* brewing out in the Atlantic.

But for now, I'm safe.

Another Storm Brewing

 This was supposed to be a good week.  Nature seems to have other plans.

Some things have been good.  I had my annual physical.  This always stresses me out, for various reasons.  One- it's almost an hour's drive there.  Two - I wonder what the doctor is going to nag me about (my blood pressure?  My cholesterol count?). And I will always have the memory of Bob going to his usual annual checkup, feeling fine, expecting everything to be normal, and finding out that things were really wrong.  So it's a relief to have it over with.  And she couldn't find anything to nag me about - between diet and walking, I have my blood pressure and cholesterol where they need to be, and everything else checked out.

A Spirit Halloween has opened up between the doctor's office and home, so of course I had to go poke around in there.  I was also adamant about treating myself to a coffee; alas - the shop I wanted to go to wouldn't have opened for another half-hour, and patience is not my virtue.  I settled for a Starbucks.  One - I don't like their coffee; it always tastes slightly burned.  I went for a latte so the milk and sugar would cover up the taste.  And I don't like the atmosphere.  I like coffee shops with a certain coziness to them; Starbucks is more industrial.  And loud.  So I sat outside to sip and read (Confederacy of Dunces) and tried to tune out the "atmosphere" of a busy street on one side and a parking lot on the other.

The visit to Spirit made me really want to give in to some Halloween urges.  I raided my cottage for a plastic bird skeleton, some cheesecloth, and a bicycle brake cable.  A little surgery on the skeleton, some glue, and I have a little friend for my shoulder.

Then on Friday Jeff was in town (he has to come in about every two months for meetings).  I've written before about the irony of his never having time to get together when he lived here, but now he makes the time.  It was a lovely day - we had lunch, and then went to the big Spirit Halloween, and then went mall walking while we talked.  We spent close to five hours together - that hopefully will hold me for awhile.

And I did have a lovely moment in Spirit.  I was looking at quite a good demon goat skeleton mask.  One of the sales staff came over to comment on it, and I mentioned that I liked making puppets and thought it might be a good puppet head.  She then asked "if you don't mind, can I ask why you like puppets?"  I first gave my usual glib answer of "I like to make new friends" but then went on to how people naturally interact with puppets - that even if they're on a screen, they need belief, or the suspension of belief.  She told me that she's really into puppets, and showed me her sleeve tattoo from Labyrinth (a Jim Henson movie).  It's those little connections that I've come to treasure.

So last week was good.  This week?  Supposed to be good.  Finally, after a month, I was supposed to take my car to the shop on Thursday to get repaired.  And Tuesday through Friday evenings I'm taking an online class on making a rod-controlled puppet - out of cardboard (it's a great entry-level material)

But you know what else looks like it might happen this week?  On Thursday?  Frickin' hurricane.  We won't know for sure for a few more days - but at the moment it has the potential to be a nasty one.  I've spent part of today doing storm prep (I don't have to do much because I sort of keep permanent storm prep happening).  Tomorrow I'll fill up my buckets of flushing water.  I'm trying - not that successfully - not to stress out.  But I'm pissed - why couldn't this thing have waited another week?

Stay tuned.

September Nostalgia

 Hello, September 2025 self.  I know that you'll be looking back to see how I'm doing this year.

I've been hit with nostalgia hard today.  Partly it's out of empathy for my friend Los.  On Sept. 13 his wife Ellen headed to Tampa to do some work for two weeks.  That night he called, and made plans for when he was going to come visit the following weekend.  On the morning of Sept. 14 he got a call from a hospital there that she had a pulmonary embolism and died.  I know he's feeling crushed today.

I've been oddly yearning for September 2019 - hard to believe that's five years ago.  By now we had gotten used to our routine.  One week 1 of the month we would go to the clinic Monday through Friday.  We might be there just an hour for his tests and shots, or maybe 4-6 hours if he needed a transfusion or platelets.  The next week we would go in Monday and Tuesday for the shots and whatever.  Then we'd go in Friday just for tests.  For the next two weeks we'd go in twice a week for tests and whatever.  When we finished, we might go get something to eat, or do some shopping, or go to Michael's to look at Halloween stuff.

It was surreal because he honestly felt fine.  Sometimes when we were taking our walks or sitting by a yard fire, he'd shake his head and go "are we sure I have leukemia?"

It's hard to explain how much I achingly miss those times.  He had those treatments on that schedule for five months.  The drive to the clinic was close to an hour.  But we'd be in our little cubical - they would bring us coffee or tea, and sometimes snacks.  We both took our tablets to read, or he would put in earbuds to watch a video, and I'd knit.  We'd chat, or make plans.

We were intensely together.  As I said, he felt fine.  Looking back, in those five months that this was our routine, I realize that not a single time did either of us think that I didn't really have to go along.  He would have been fully capable of going by himself - at least physically.  We never talked about it; it was just outside the scope of thought to do that.  

I also find myself missing Shands - the hospital in Gainesville.  That was the last place that we lived together.

It's been four and a half years.  So far (knock wood) I've handled everything that's been thrown at me.  So, physically - to do things - I haven't needed him.  But emotionally?  I need him so badly.  The pain is as strong as it was four and a half years ago - I'm just better at powering through it, and not letting it show (breaking down in front of people when it's fresh is OK - after this amount of time it would seem overly dramatic).

OK, that's it.  Just feeling alone, and lonely, and wanted to talk it out.

Car Update; Things are Quiet

 After pulling off half the underskirting on the car and elegantly putting the rest back together with zip ties and duct tape, today I nervously nursed it to the body shop.
My plan (after talking to the insurance company) was to do this out-of-pocket.  I have a pretty high deductible, and how much could a damaged bumper cost?  My plan was to leave it there, get a rental for a few days, and get it back hopefully in a week or so.

Hah!  He gave it a quick look over and said "you probably want to go through your insurance company - this will be $1500 - $2000."  I asked if I could go ahead and leave it there - and nope.  He couldn't give an estimate today - that has to wait for a request from the insurance company.  He assured me that it's OK to drive it without the underskirting (still makes me nervous).   So this afternoon I filed the claim, and rescheduled the inspection, and then Lord only knows when I can get it repaired.

All this for barely touching a curb.

Meanwhile, possibly to sooth myself, I've been knitting again.  I use to knit incessantly - I kept my bag hanging on a hook on the wall so I could grab it anytime (there was awhile that one parent or another would end up in the emergency room fairly often).  I knit whenever I could when Bob was in the hospital; I didn't finish anything, and about a year after I came home unraveled the three projects I had started because whenever I picked them up I was transported back to where I had been and what I was feeling when I worked on them.  Of course, I could have just thrown them away, but they were all quite nice handspun yarns and I figured that eventually the anger would leak out of them, as a friend once said.

I still spin, just because that's my zen.  But I've only knit one thing since I came back from Gainesville. 

But I recently finished some really lovely yarns out of an outrageously soft camel down and silk fiber and my fingers got a little itchy to sample it.

I started knitting some samples from it - then cast my eye on some fall-colored wool yarn.  Normally, my default is to knit elaborate lacy shawls like the above- more for show than for warmth.  This earthtone yarn was a thicker than my usual lace, and the long color segments in it were pretty - but if you combine obvious colors with lace, they both seem to fight each  other.  I tried  a pattern which is about as dead simple as can be, but shows off those colors, and suddenly I was hooked (alas - after I knit it for awhile, I realized that I would run out of yarn, so I had to rip it out and restart it a little smaller).  The pattern is so simple that not only could I watch TV - but I could read!  My email inbox was overloaded with "mean to read" New York Times articles and a science newsletter - so I've been knitting and reading and it's helped me get over the car panic.  I've only done two of the six panels so far but I like the way it's showing off the colors.  And unlike the fancy ones, this one should be warm.

Now for the quiet.  I've written a bit this year about just feeling quiet. A lot of cleaning, a lot of reading, a little going out but never forcing myself.   No creative urges.  I realized now that there's been a bit of an edge to the quiet, a sort of tenseness of "waiting for the other shoe to drop."  I realize now it's because nothing has really happened this year (the car thing, yes, but honestly nothing got hurt but my bank account)

I've done recountings before - sometimes reminding myself why I feel upset or unbalanced.  So - to recount the recountings.  From just before Bob and I went to Gainesville - December 2019 - to August 2023, so three years and eight months,  I lost Bob, five other friends died (Anna, Ellen, Shannon, Chris, and Mischa), and Rob and Jeff moved.  Four cats died (Wilhelm, Nazgul, Apache, and Tula) and I almost lost Hamish.  On far too many occasions I came home to the mangled remains of my chickens and peacocks.  All this against the background of the pandemic.  So basically I spent those 44 months in a state of reaction.   2024??  Not much - near miss by the tornado and slightly less near miss by the hurricane, but that's it (knock wood, throw salt, spin three times, whatever for luck).  It's been a year now since Mischa died - and in that year, no one else I know has.  The cats and chickens are doing well.  No wonder it has felt strange, and a bit unnatural.

I'm getting glimmers of creativity again.  The knitting, and I've signed up for an online puppet course (rod puppet) at the end of the month.  I've been watching a few TED talks on puppetry - as I mentioned a couple of posts ago, they somehow draw people in, with their belief necessary to bring the inanimate object to life.  But even then, I got a pang.  I was watching the puppetry used for the stage version of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.  They had an interesting concept for the great lion Aslan, in that he was portrayed by both a large puppet and a human actor (showing the spirit of the lion)

Yes, it made me think of Bob.  You know how we all carry the idea of our secret self inside? Like on the outside I might be the childless cat lady who lives alone (and isn't it a little sad) but I like to think of myself as the Swamp Witch.  Well, the human Aslan above is how I pictured Bob.  Strong, noble, perhaps a bit wild and feral.

I wonder if it helped him sometimes - maybe on those days when his leg hurt and his boss had been a jerk and he was just plain tired - knowing that this is how I saw him.  My druid, my changeling bear.

Yes, he knew I saw him that way, just as I knew that he saw me as the mysterious woman in Al Stewart's "Year of the Cat."  And I have to admit that I liked his view of me a lot better than I liked my more boring and mundane view of myself.  I miss being that woman.

She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running
Like a watercolor in the rain
Don't bother asking for explanations
She'll just tell you that she came
In the year of the cat

She doesn't give you time for questions
As she locks up your arm in hers
And you follow 'till your sense of which direction
Completely disappears

Car, Sadness, Eggs

 I'm upset. I'm annoyed/pissed at myself, and pissed at my car, and I wish things were The Way They Used To Be.

I wrote about the fun of the Here There Be Dragons day at the library. I did not write about the aftermath.

The parking spots at the library have those low cement curbs at the front of the spots.  Apparently when I parked, I pulled in too close and must have driven up on it a little, because when I pulled out I heard a slight scraping sound.  This has happened before, as I imagine that it's happened to most people.  In Days Gone By, in my 2001 Honda, nothing would have happened.  But I'm driving a modern car now, and when I got home I discovered that I had managed to pull the entire right front fender/bumper loose.  Language ensued.  Then I studied the situation, grabbed the bumper, snapped it back into place and replaced a screw.  I was quite pleased with myself.

Until the next Tuesday, when I was driving home from work and it was rattling a bit.  I pulled into the feed store to get advice from Rik and Steve.  Steve found another loose screw and fixed it, but pointed out other damage and said I really needed to take it to the shop - but it should be OK to drive until then.  "Then" ended up being a couple of weeks away (next Monday) because all the body shops are backed up.

Wednesday, to and from work, no problem.  I didn't drive again until going to work Tuesday - and I heard more rattling.  I had planned on going grocery shopping, but decided to skip it so I could get home and examine the situation.  I did pull into the Dollar General to pick up some milk and cat food - and heard a scraping.  The underskirting on the driver's side had come loose and was lying on the ground.

The logical thing to do would be to call a tow truck and have it hauled to the shop - which would have left me at the Dollar General with no transportation.  The last time I rented a car, even with a reservation, it took three hours to get it - Lord only knows how long it would have taken, even if I had gotten an Uber (if they come out that far) and gotten there.  Likely not that day.

I was only three miles from home - that's all I needed.  And I was at the store.

There may be something more redneck than crawling under your car in the parking lot of a Dollar General with a roll of duct tape . . . .   (another customer was kind enough to help me).  And it did last until I got home and then it fell off again.  After lunch and a rest, I went back under the car to see if there was anyway I could rig it securely.  There wasn't.   Rob called to chat that evening, and I was saying that I was upset because now I was going to have to get a tow truck out here, and get myself to the car rental place, and it was such a pain in the butt, and he suggested that I just pull the skirting off.  He had to do that this spring when a deer hit his car and the under flaps were scraping the tire.  Hmmm.  Sounds like a plan.

It was dark and I was tired, so (with apologies) called out to work Wednesday and went to "pull the skirting off."  Two hours later . . . .   As I told Rob, I probably could have done it faster if I a) had a lift, b) had the right tools, and c) knew what the hell I was doing.  But it's done, and I've got other parts put back together with zip ties and yes, more tape (I upgraded to my Gorilla tape).  Now to hope that it holds together long enough to drive it to the shop.

But yesterday I was pretty damned depressed about the whole thing.  And beating myself up.  Here, I had promised Bob that I could take care of things, and then I rip the car up.  He would have been so disappointed.  And then I kicked my own butt.  If this had happened to a friend - I would have said thing like isn't it a pisser that cars today are made of plastic and put together with pop beads and why does the height of the front of the car have to match the height of the curb?   And if I would tell a friend not to call herself an idiot for making such a stupid mistake, why can't I tell myself the same thing?

But I'm depressed about it.  I wish I didn't have to arrange everything myself.  It didn't help that I had a dream about him - we were in a car, but he was going to drop me off at this strange house to wait while he went to get a rental car.  I plaintively asked "can't I just go with you?"  But no - I can't go with him.  He left, and I woke up crying.

I've just been missing him a lot lately.  For one, it's September (although it was over 100 degrees when I was hunkered down on the asphalt at the Dollar General).  It's getting dark earlier, the light is at a different angle, and it seems that it should feel like fall.   And for so many years about now Bob, Rob, Jeff, and I would really be gearing up for the Howl.  In a couple of weeks we would start going to the museum to put our building materials in place.  And now, nothing.

I have from time to time mentioned my friend Los, who every day does a FaceBook post about some memory of his life with his late wife.  The anniversary of her passing is in 9 days, and I can tell that it's tearing him up.  I know how it feels; like you keep trying to find some way to stop it.  Last week Maria posted on the one-year anniversary of losing Mischa.  I feel their loss.  I feel my own.

A FaceBook memory popped up of Rob, Amanda, and Zeke coming to a big dinosaur exhibit.  I remember it well - on one hand it was fun, and impressive, and I genuinely enjoyed it.  But I was also howling on the inside, feeling so empty, because I was there without Bob and he would have loved it.  And I was trying to keep from crying, from letting anyone know how much it hurt.  It seemed like a lifetime ago; I was surprised to see that it was only two years.

The loneliness sort of got to me yesterday.  I've gotten used to being alone, and I can have interactions at work two days a week.  But last night I found myself  wishing that I knew someone near enough to just come over and hang out.  Make popcorn, watch TV, chat.  Simple but impossible.

Enough of the pity party.  Must have a glimmer.  And these days, it's my chickens.  When I went to get my chicks last March, they were almost sold out, so I couldn't get any exotic ones - I had to take what they had, which was two copper marans and three speckled Sussex.  I did want the marans - they lay lovely dark brown eggs.  The Sussex lay a tan egg, and they're a bit of an odd-colored bird, the "little speckled hen" of farm stories.  They won't hold still long enough to get a good picture so here's one from the internet.

They all have different speckle patterns.  When I told my friend Judy (who keeps chickens) about them, she said "Oh, but they are the most friendly chickens!"  And she's right.  It's hard to get in and out of the scratch yard because they crowd around my feet - and it's tricky to walk in there for the same reason.  Frollo has now taken to flying up to my arm - or my shoulder - and doesn't want to get off.  And maybe I'll take a video to show how much they talk.  Adorable little birds.

Spring chicks will usually start laying at 4-5 months old.  At four months I started lecturing them "you're adults now - you need to start paying the rent."   At five months - rent paid!

I had been carefully doling out the 3-4 eggs a week that Djali laid (she's the turquoise eggs).  Now I'm wondering what to do with the 3-5 eggs a *day* that I'm getting.  And just in time for my annual physical and bloodwork, where my doctor complains to me about my cholesterol.

So there's where I stand at the moment.  I do sometimes just have to admit that at times I'm not OK.  This whole car thing would be easier with two of us.  I want to share the bowl of popcorn.  Sometimes I'm lonely.  I wish there was someone to smile when I walk in a room.  I wish there was something to hold in my arms at night other than my cuddle pillow.  I wish there was more laughter, more conversations in my life.  I wish Bob was still here.

I'll get over this, and I'll feel better when my car is in and out of the shop  I don't like driving in the first place, and I really don't like driving a rental, and it would be the luck of the draw that this happened at a time when I have three appointments in the next week or so, across town, instead of my usual two days a week driving to work.