And the rain came down: Puddle Ducks

We had a little rain this morning. Twelve to fifteen inches depending on who you ask. When the storm blew over and the water receded, the Sonars went out to play. They’re lankier versions of the waddling puddle ducks they were a few years ago. They have an angular grace now as they leap over puddles and bogs rather than swishing through them. When I watched them splash and chase grass-blade boats in the gutter currents, I remembered a short piece I wrote a while back, on an afternoon when heavy rain surprised us at afternoon pickup from school.

Could you resist a puddle like that?

Puddle Ducks

The first drop from the grey-black sky splatted against my right lens. One, two, three beats between the lightning and the thunder. One, two, three strides to damp hair and a spotted shirt. By the time I crossed twenty yards of macadam to the portico my hair dripped, my shirt was plastered to my chest, my arms were slick with rain. I jogged the last few feet, leaping over the final puddle alongside another mom. We laughed our disbelief at the suddenness of the downpour.

Cars wound around the pickup circle, lights blinkering, wipers swiping uselessly at the sheets of rain. The car queue stretched down the block like a sluggish, twitching snake thumping out a wiper-blade heartbeat.

Older kids were outside under the portico. Younger in criss-cross-applesauce-nobody-goes-anywhere-unless-you-tell-your-teacher-first lines in the entry hall. Aides and administrators in ponchos and walkie talkies tried to match kids to cars without dripping on the floor, without putting the wrong kid with the wrong adult, without losing little sister in the crush of people, trying to keep kids from washing away in those last steps to car doors under umbrellas.

I slide through a door between a custodian with a Yellow Caution Wet Floor sign and the gym teacher in neon green galoshes and two terrified looking preschoolers clutching his jacket. I find one of my kids by the cafeteria door, catch the attention and a thumbs up from his teacher, scoop up my second child and touch his teacher on the elbow. She smiles and squeezes my hand as I squeeze back through the crowd with my treasures. I dodge out the side door, stepping aside for the principal in a long yellow raincoat and waders.

I ask the kids if they’re ready to get a little wet. Their eyes twinkle.

Not Done Yet

Ok, so I really really hoped that I was done with Ike.  But Ike isn’t done with us yet.  Not by a long shot.  

Partner’s parents, northwest of Houston a couple of hours, experienced Category 1 winds and buckets of rain.  They’re fine.  Their house is fine.  They are among the lucky ones.  

They have been without electricity since early yesterday morning.  Their power company says it’ll be somewhere between five days and two weeks (weeks!) until their power is restored.  Besides lacking the obvious luxuries like fridge and air conditioning, the pump on their well is electric, as is the overflow on their septic tank.  So the less obvious luxuries of bathing and flushing are out for a while.  They can cook on a gas stove, but have no way to keep food very cold.  The local town does have electricity, and the roads are clear and stores and restaurants are open and functional.  We have nonetheless encouraged them to come stay with us for a while.  

Granddad works in the insurance industry, and will likely be busy for the next few… well, for a while.  

On a psychological front, I can’t let go of Ike yet.  I feel compelled to watch as the damage and casualties emerge, knowing full well that one of those splintered homes could have been mine but for a late curve to the north.  I feel compelled to grieve with those who have lost their homes, who may have lost neighbors and loved ones.

I am fine, and lucky, and I know that this second-hand grief will pass.  It will pass for me much more quickly than for those in Houston and Galveston and elsewhere in east Texas and Louisiana.  

I want you to do something for me.  Hug someone you love.  Call a friend you haven’t seen for a while.  Count your blessings.  Do something to help someone.  

Undo

The boards are down now. 

1:00 pm.

Tropical Storm Ike

31.6N 95.4W

About 165 miles north of Galveston, east of Waco and headed for Tyler.

wind 60 mph with gusts to 100 mph

moving north at 16 mph

Ike missed us completely.  At midnight the sky here was partly cloudy, the breeze was light.  It was hot and the mosquitoes were horrible.  At four a.m. (the predicted peak of our winds), there was virtually no change from midnight.  Eight o’clock this morning was the same, though dramatically dryer.  After three days of worry and fuss and falderall, we experienced no weather effects from Hurricane Ike.  Nary a breeze.  

As soon as we ate breakfast this morning, we were out pulling the plywood off the windows, and mowing the grass ahead of the rain we’re predicted to get from a cold front (totally unrelated to Ike) tomorrow.  Neighbors were out in force doing much of the same.  Boards down.  Potted plants and lawn chairs back out of the garage.  Swings rehung or untied.  

When the boards went up and we dragged everything into the garage a few days ago, we were operating on a good dose of adrenalin and anxiety.  The work was hard, but went quickly.  Now that the storm has passed us by, and with a hangover from a three-day adrenalin overdose, the work seems so much slower and more tedious.  But I’ll take this work over the work of pumping away water, sweeping away debris, cutting away boards or trees, living without power.  I’ll take this Undo work over that Recover work any day.  

Millions of people in eastern Texas are without electricity and water service today.  Check out the Houston Chronicle for local coverage of the damage.  Click the slide show on the Chronicle’s left column (“See Hurricane Ike’s Devastation”  I can’t figure out how to link directly to it) for particularly dramatic photos of the JP Morgan Chase Building in downtown Houston.    

I hope this concludes continuing coverage on Hurricane Ike.  I’m ready to think about something else for a while.  Like cake.  What do you think?  Almond cream or double chocolate with strawberry sauce?  

Fortunate

Due east earlier today.

9:00 p.m.

Ike 

97 miles from Galveston, just shy of Category 3 force

Five hours until eye landing.  They’ve endured several hours of tropical storm force winds, and at least 17 hours to go with tropical force and hurricane force winds and rain.  The worst is yet to come.  

Look at this image of Ike from the International Space Station.  Beautiful and terrible.  

Here, it is a little windy (gusts to 14 mph/21 km/h), and very hot (heat index 94F/34C).  Our winds are not forecast to exceed 45 mph, which is not unusual for an everyday kind of storm around here.

Two days ago, we worried most about whether our house and trees would survive intact.  Yesterday we worried about whether to stay or go.  Tonight we are worried about how many grapefruits we’ll lose (they won’t be ripe until November).  

No, actually, tonight I’m worried about the four million people who did not evacuate the Houston metropolitan area.  I’m worried about my in-laws, who may feel hurricane force winds more than a hundred and fifty miles inland tomorrow.   

I’ll be up.  Watching and knitting.  

Hundreds of grapefruits today.  How many tomorrow?

My Theory about Hurricane Parties

2:30 p.m.

Ike

27.4N  93.1W

winds 105 mph, gusts 125 mph

165 miles from Galveston

Traveling WNW at 12 mph

Portland’s latitude is 27.8N, so Ike is almost due east of us right now.  I’d show you a picture of due east from here, but the camera batteries are charging.  Later perhaps.  

This location is good news for us.  

Because Ike is such a big monster, it’s unlikely to be able to dramatically change the direction in which it is moving, so there is almost no chance now of a direct hit from the eye.  The National Hurricane Center has been forecasting a “turn to the north” for Ike for the past 18 hours.  That turn has not yet happened, but they still think it’s going to happen.  If it does not turn, Ike could slam into Matagorda Bay, about 80 miles up the coast from us.  It seems to me though, that a hit near East Matagorda Bay, another several dozen miles up the coast from here, might be the best spot in terms of overall protection of life and property.  In other words, hitting Matagorda Bay, misses Galveston/Houston.  Though the storm surge is such that even without a direct hit right now, the water is going to destroy a lot of property and put a lot of people in danger.  The storm surge from Ike is already battering Galveston, and landfall won’t occur (at any location) for at least 8-10 more hours.  

Things have been very quiet for us around here today.  Fewer people have been out chatting.  Everyone is tired.  I would guess that about a quarter of our town has evacuated, though I think a few people have returned.  The rest of us are just exhaling and being thankful that we are no longer the target.  

Which brings me to the subject of the notorious Hurricane Party.  We hear a lot in the lead-up to a storm about how hurricane parties are bad ideas, generally irresponsible.  

A part of me believes that if a bunch of people band together to share supplies and look out for each other in the face of a big storm, that’s a great idea.  Especially if someone with a sound structure can play host.  As long as everyone has done all of the crucial preparation to protect life and property, as opposed to simply amassing chips and alcohol.  

Speaking from our experience this week, the intense preparations and waiting, the indecision, the stress builds up, and now that we are out of the main danger, all of that pent up energy feels like it needs to be dissipated.  It only makes sense to me that spontaneous hurricane parties might arise in areas that have been missed by the storm as everyone is left sitting around with no wind to fight.  

Related to the hurricane party is the “Hurrication.”  A hurrication might occur when one has made all the necessary hurricane preparations leading up to a possible evacuation, and though no evacuation becomes necessary, they go out of town anyway.  You know, the camper’s packed and we’re ready to barbecue, so we might as well go away for the weekend.  Which seems like another good way to let off all that steam that has built up ahead of the storm.  

Right now, it’s hot (heat index at 103F/39C) and we have a light steady breeze (5 mph/8 km/h), as well as rum and coke.  And root beer for the little people.  And ice cream and chips.  Not that we’re having a hurricane party.  No.  That would be irresponsible.  Maybe.