Waiting for Rita

It is 2:07 pm, when I would normally be wrapping up the school day, and here I sit at home and at my computer. It was announced yesterday, before we left, that schools would be closed today. We have not yet processed all the fear of Katrina and her aftermath, and now we must react to new fears of Rita.

There is a routine in areas that are consistently visited by the threat of hurricane. You watch every depression that forms during the season and monitor its progress. We know the names of all major storms in the past … oh, 50 years, at least …as well as we know the names of our family members. They are like members of the family – the unwelcome relatives who show up without invitation at family gatherings; the ones who sit at the table with bad manners and vulgar conversation, totally spoiling what should have been a warm, wonderful, and cherished family memory.

Katrina left far too much of herself behind and now Rita is going to do the same.

I didn’t evacuate this time. I think I am far enough east, somewhere here between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, and I know I am high enough to be safe from flooding. I felt getting on the road, in the way of others who had to evacuate, might not be the best course, this time.

The morning started warm and drizzly, with the smell of the ocean in the air. That’s usually the first thing I notice. Our typically humid atmosphere takes on the eerie feeling of being closer to the ocean than we really are. I can’t say with any accuracy just how far I am from the gulf, but figuring how far it is from here to Morgan City and then from there to the gulf … and figuring how long it takes me to drive to Grand Isle … well, I guess I am about 150 miles inland. Far enough not to smell the ocean under normal conditions.

The drizzle has segued into a more steady rain and just minutes ago tornado warnings were issued for the parish. I am concerned about that. I will continue to type and reflect while listening for the roar of the train that would indicate it is time to run downstairs, seeking the safety of the cinder block walls of the laundry room, calling for Moose and Bella to follow me or get left behind.

I went out early this morning, while the drizzle was still light enough to barely notice, and moved all the patio furniture inside, along with the potted plants and anything I could carry that might become a flying projectile later on this evening or overnight. I moved the garbage cans into the garage and did a visual check of the yard for anything that might get caught up in the winds and thrown through a window. All part of that routine I mentioned earlier. There are limbs, still, from Katrina that I had intended to burn – before the “no burn” order was issued, due to the drought following the storm. I can do nothing but leave them where they lay.

There is a bit of wind outside, blowing intermittently, not overly gusty at the moment. My apartment is upstairs, surrounded by big old oaks. I always say it is like living in a tree house. There is no one in the main house. The Katrina evacuees returned to their homes near New Orleans last week and are going to ride this one out there. They had no water in their homes with Katrina and feel they will be dry for this one, too – but I insisted they keep the extra key in case they needed to get out in the middle of the night.

They aren’t on the same side as the water that is now re-entering New Orleans, overtopping the levees, re-opening breaches in the levee walls. They should all be safe.

I am more concerned about my neighbors to the south of me … all those little fishing villages with the French names – Pointe-au-Chene; the Fourchon; Chauvin; Dulac. The TV is already showing the roads in those areas completely covered with water. Not still water, but rapidly moving water that looks more like an angry river than an overflow.

It seems southern Louisiana is undergoing another major cosmetic change, before the scars of the last surgery have healed. What will we look like when the bandages come off, when the waters recede? What more will we have learned?