Woe is Me! It appears that I can no longer post to my FaceBook page in the normal way. I have been trying most of the morning to add one more witty, pithy, deep and abiding thought to the already well-stocked larder of wisdom out there but have been told that it just ain’t gonna work just now. Try later. I wonder if they know just how old I am?

By the way, I have been monitoring the progress of this imminent female storm headed our way. The last hurricane I sat through was in New Orleans back in ninety or ninety one. It was a male storm and was manageable, albeit, we did loose a few ancient oaks on St. Charles Ave.

The females seem to have, at least in recent times, something to prove. That they can dish it out as good as or better than some old sluggish male blow hard. I know, I know. I’m on shaky ground here but names like Katrina and Rita come to mind. Irene – I’d rather see you in my dreams, my dear. 

I thought that by moving to Maine 30 years ago I would avoid such inconveniences but – well we’ll just have to wait and see. We are talking about weather here and without putting too fine a point on it, It’s anybody’s guess. The actual weather people can bring together all kinds of remarkable tools to talk about while on TV with breakers crashing behind them but they seem as surprised as the rest of us about what actually happens most of the time.

I just love their over acted sense of responsibility. In slack moments, when not dogging a 30 foot storm surge, they resort to patronizing warnings about laying in batteries and bananas and water – like, hey, I wish I’d have thought about that. I guess you learn that in Weather Man school.

I guess I shouldn’t talk. I have an app on my phone that keeps me up to the minute on the progress of this baby and it is also on my Twitter page. Both of which will become useless when all the trees and light poles are laying on the ground. And I do have batteries, water and bananas laid by, along with a supply of various “medicinal” preparations to ease the tension during the depths of the storm.

So I am out to fill the gas can and check on other things that can be done in advance of this event. A 50 to 100 year storm that is predicted to pass down I – 95? I’ll take that as a real threat. I’ll see you at the gas pump or in the beer aisle.


1 Comment

  1. I have to admit, the times I spent after Rita and Ike, on my wrecked patio, surrounded by disaster, cooking venison over the grill, or whatever else folks came by with, and cold beer on FEMA ice…those were some pretty good times. Nodding off to the constant drone of the generator. Ahhh, the memories.The clean-up does suck though. The price we pay for living on the third coast.have fun and be carefuldh

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