To my readers: This is my first post since January. Family troubles, including two serious illnesses and my sister's death, turned off all my writing except my diary for a while. I believe I'm back in business now.
Tuesday night I told Amanda I’d go to Walmart first thing Wednesday to prepare for Irma, the monster hurricane that might be heading our way. I told her not to tell Joe, since I was sure he would scoff. She didn’t tell Joe, simply asked me in his presence, “Did you tell Grandpa about Walmart?”
Joe didn’t scoff, exactly, just claimed that we weren’t going to lose power because we never have since the lines were buried underground. I pointed out that in 2004 power went out all over town despite the buried lines. (Gainesville doesn’t get the full force because we’re halfway between the Gulf and the Atlantic,60 miles from each of them. But this is a monster hurricane, extremely large, extremely fierce.)
Though I’ve lived in Florida 43 years I’ve never prepared for a hurricane before. When I lived near the coast, in Jacksonville, I was a young single mother, and I would dither and fret as hurricanes threatened: I don’t know how to put up plywood, don’t have tape, what do I do, what do I do? As I look back I realize how very young I was, and how far I’ve come.
Five hurricanes hit Florida in the summer of 2004. Number two, Frances, was a mere tropical storm by the time it reached Gainesville, but some people lost power for two weeks. We only lost power for 45 minutes. We were in bed when our neighbor’s huge laurel oak, hollow inside, slammed down onto our roof, right over our heads. It took nine months to replace the roof and repair all the damage.
image:mldavisinsurance.com
Irma is coming at a particularly unfortunate time for the Muumuu Mamas. This weekend was going to be our annual beach expedition, eight of us together for three nights, with no responsibility for anyone but ourselves, all of us lovers of food, conversation, dancing, long walks on the beach, and each other. My sister Luli died just three weeks ago, and I needed comfort from those seven mamas, so when our beach weekend blew away, I was gloomy. But then the women came up with an alternate date in November, and Julie found us a house, so I’m feeling more cheerful. click
relaxing at the beach 2013
Just after 6:00 on Wednesday morning I headed to the nearby Walmart with a short list: water, tuna, soup, crackers, baked beans, pineapple, ravioli and smoked oysters (both favorites of Amanda). The parking lot was only a third full. The shelves were even emptier.
image:financialmoneytips.com
Going down the canned goods aisles was an interesting lesson in what people won’t eat, and what I’m willing to eat if desperate. All the tuna was gone, but there were plenty of water-packed scallops, clams, and oysters. Two cans of herring, two of smoked oysters – I took them all. The only baked beans left were vegetarian or ‘touch of maple.’ I took two of the latter, though now I’m having second thoughts.
All the soups were Campbell's. Cases and cases of cheese soup, and cream of mushroom, and a fair amount of broth. That was it, except for three four-packs of chicken noodle – I took one – and a few cans of Slow Kettle Style portobello mushroom-and-madeira bisque, and andouille sausage jambalaya with chicken and ham. How nasty do you suppose they’ll be? No ravioli, and I turned up my nose at the spaghetti-o’s. I got saltines and peanut butter crackers – the only peanut butter available was flavored, or swirled with jelly, and I just couldn’t.
Am I too fussy? images: target.com, reddit.com
Little snack packs of nutella for Amanda. Canned pineapple and canned corn – the only canned produce I can stomach. A jar of peanuts, a box of raisins, instant oatmeal. I asked a woman stocking the chips shelves where the bottled water was. She said there was none left at Walmart but they had pallets at the Publix at Hunter’s Crossing, which opened at 7.
I arrived at Publix at ten to seven. They had opened early; people were already leaving, with carts loaded with water. This was the on-their-way-to-work crowd. I took two 24-packs of pint bottles, though I hate buying plastic bottled water. But inside, in the water aisle, a man was just unloading pallets of gallon jugs. The Official Recommendation is a gallon per person per day for three days, so I took 8 gallons and returned one of the 24-packs.
Publix’ shelves were more generous than Walmart’s. I bought lots of tuna, four cans of Progresso soups, ravioli. In the ethnic aisle I considered a can of beans that contained blood sausage,chorizo and ham, but thought better of it. I love blood sausage, but in a can? I don't think so.
image: cubanfoodmarket.com
People who only bought water were in the ‘ten items or fewer” check-out lines. (I love that Publix’ sign-makers know the difference between less and fewer). Everyone else was in the regular lines, twenty or more people in each line, the lines stretching way down the aisles. I took an instant dislike to the man in front of me, and reached all sorts of unsupported conclusions about him. He muttered gloomily that there’s a thin line between humanity and chaos, and people shouldn’t panic. I was sure that in an emergency situation he would try to take charge, bossing everyone around, with no skills nor information.
There was no sign of either panic or chaos. Instead people were cheerful, saying how many families they were buying for, what happened to them in previous storms, claiming expertise because they’d lived in South Florida for years and were used to it. Somebody pointed out that after it was over we could always donate the water jugs to some other emergency down the road. There was a pleasant sense of community, and it cheered me up to be doing this, brought me out of the very inward state I’ve been in since Luli died.
At home I stored my supplies, and told the family we don’t TOUCH them unless the power goes out. For extra security I hid the oysters and nutella behind other cans. We can celebrate the end of hurricane season with a most peculiar feast, and donate the water bottles to the HOME Van.
I felt a proud sense of accomplishment as I looked at my tidy stash. And last night Joe, who has been following every detail of the forecasts, and analyzing how they are produced, said that he took back his mocking, and thought I had done an excellent job. It’s only Thursday, but Amanda's school has already cancelled Monday’s classes. Nothing is supposed to happen in Florida till Saturday morning, and north Florida doesn’t expect trouble till Sunday afternoon. The roads north will be godawful jammed, the gas stations are running out, the sky is gray. We’re waiting for Irma, who may not visit us. I hope she veers way east to the middle of the ocean, but if she hits us, I will eat weird soups, and enjoy NOT saying ‘I told you so.’
UPDATE: I’m posting this Friday morning. Gainesville is now smack in the center of the cone of uncertainty, and so am I, with a small nervous knot centered somewhere between my throat and my belly, and possible tension covering head to toe. My sense of humor may evacuate. I fret about all the possible horrors for everyone else, but for us I just focus my hopes on: Please no more trees on the roof.