Think Pink

A little Glimpse of my life

Hurricane Jeanne

Tropical Depression

As I looked around the other day, really looked around, at the changes, at the seasons, I realized that I lost a month of life somewhere out in the Atlantic Ocean. At least, that’s where it started. Sometime around the first of September I stopped smiling, laughing, enjoying, planning or hoping. I flipped off all the excess switches and left only one functioning, and that one was labeled “survival.”

I can’t even begin to convey to you the atmosphere around here. After Charley which blew through fast and strong, everyone had a “we’re all in this together” mentality. Neighbors who had never spoken before smiled and laughed as they repaired fences, hauled away limbs, cleaned and piled debris like displaced beaver lodges in domes of 5 feet and higher in some places. Those with power helped out those without. We grinned and bore it as the state baked kiln-like and interior temperatures could soar over 110* on good day. There was an end in sight, power would be restored and life would go on as usual.

But before power was even restored to many of us, the name Frances began to be mentioned in casual conversation. Frances was big. Frances was strong. Thank goodness Frances was so far away and who ever heard of two hurricanes in as many weeks. It would never happen.

But Frances’ stroll across the Atlantic was as inevitable as it was slow. Smiles grew tight and eyes wary. One began to ponder battle gear when it came time to go to the store. A can of tuna was a worth a vicious verbal battle, and sometimes came to blows. Life was measured in 6 hour increments, the highlight coming at the end when the National Hurricane Service issued the updated forecast track. Mistakes made in preparation for Charley were corrected. Experience is the best teacher, and we were fast becoming experts.

As Frances grew in size and strength, our hopes deflated. People stopped confidently issuing the prediction “No hurricane has ever directly impacted the east coast of Florida” and expended their energy on tasks more essential. Plywood was like gold. Two sheets were given to us by a friend with extra (delivered from Georgia by his daughter), and in the time it took to unload it, no fewer than seven passers-by inquired of its origin. The more inventive took to fastening lengths of privacy fence over the windows when the plywood ran out. Blue tarps were sandbagged, tied and finally nailed over rooftops. The forty minute wait for gas was endured. Spaghettios and peanut butter disappeared from store shelves and lined our cabinets. We considered ourselves prepared when Frances began to lumber ashore.

Thirty-nine hours later we realized that there was no preparation for a storm like Frances. One wouldn’t think that the sound of a freight train roaring by your home could be ignored, but when you hear it long enough, its silence that seems odd. Power lines snapped and dropped arcing and spitting in the streets until the transformers blew or worse yet, power poles simply snapped in two and dropped beside them. Street lights swung and tilted and finally let go, slamming into the intersections they guarded. Trees that saw the early side of last century lay in the streets, their roots waving in the wind, their beds cavernous beneath them. The beach was swallowed and stolen by the deadly surf. Boats floated into the streets. Roofs peeled back and ripped off like over ripe fruit. Water found its way into attics, through window frames, under doors and into garages. Everything was dark, and wet and hot.

Hour after hour after hour.

When it was finally over, we wandered shell shocked through the streets, the quiet ringing in our ears. Grateful to be numb to the chaos around us because it was all so much to take in.

And when the power finally came back on, there was Ivan.

There is a level of focus, an intensity, which can only be maintained for a period of time before it breaks you. I reached that point on Thursday evening, sitting in my sweltering living room, watching television on power borrowed from neighbors across the street, as my daughter wept in fear of another storm.

We escaped. We had to. I was doubtful that I could even muster the amount of necessities needed to feed my family by this time. We left and by my side, before me and behind were the people of south Florida. Forced to leave, many pulling trailers with everything they owned not knowing what would be standing when they returned. We all looked the same, stony faced, weary, staring ahead intently as if that would somehow get us to a place of safety, a place of sanity, more quickly. In my car I played the same song over and over again and cried.

People are quick to point out that your house is just that. A house. Filled with things, easily replaced. On a certain level, I suppose that is so. But much more is inferred when one speaks of home then dining sets and closets of clothes and appliances. Home is a place of comfort and rest. It’s a place of peace, and family, laughter and belonging. I wasn’t mourning the loss of my house. I mourned the loss of my home. I was leaving a place that could no longer provide for my emotional security and seeking somewhere to find it. I was one of the lucky ones. My flight has purpose, a destination and perhaps some comfort at the end. Many left with simply a hotel room and more displacement as their destination.

At the end of my journey I reached a place where I didn’t have to think about food or water. a place where the sun warmed me with out baking me, a place where I could sit and read and just not worry about tomorrow or the next day or the next week, but simply sit and be. My children ran and played in the park, and outside. It was normal, almost. I still didn’t quite make it away from the storms. Ivan rushed through Tennessee and it almost made me chuckle to hear journalists speak so ominously of 25mph winds. Almost, except that it brought the same heartache and destruction in its tamer form inland as it did at the coast.
No, I didn’t completely escape, but somewhere in Nashville I found my smile again. I was able to ease up, let go, and think a little further than the next meal. And that is a good thing considering what I had to face once I came home again. But it’s ok. I can say “life is good” again, and mean it. Even when life is at its most dismal it’s better than the alternative. I spent some time taking pictures yesterday of what is left now. They are painful to look at, but at the same time, strangely healing. I hope to get them up later tonight. And I hope you will share them.

Life is good, even in the midst of a hurricane. Or four.

I *HEART* electricity

We are here.
We are dry.
We have power.

I am blessed.

Longer post with more pics and hurricane inspired funnies tomorrow.

Thank you again for your sweet words and prayers.

Deja-Spew

We just heard the first transformer blow.

sigh.

is it too much to hope that I will be able to turn on the bathroom light in the morning?

THIS JUST IN!

"Beachside Hurricane Parties are not recommended by the Emergency Management Services or local Law enforcement offices."

Yes, these are the reasons we have 24 hour news coverage folks.
You heard it here first, just in case you were wondering.

Hurricane Images

Hurricane Sunset (these are not digitally altered)

Two girls in the storm. Yes, we were outside

While there Is Still Time

I want to say thank you. Thank you to all of you who took the time to leave encouraging comments in the past weeks. Thank you for all of your calls, letters, cards, care packages and most importantly prayers during what has been many, many difficult weeks now.

We are home, and we will remain here for the duration. We will most certainly lose power and probably for some time. As it stands now, Daytona Beach will get the brunt of the North Eastern quadrant of the storm--traditionally the most dangerous area for storms and tornados.

I must nap now. It promises to be another long night.

Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on; let me stand.
I am tired.
I am weak.
I am worn.
Through the Storm, through the night.
Lead me on, th the light.
Take my hand, My precious Lord.
Lead me home.

Things That Make Me Use the "EFF"-word

So sorry if your "delicate sensibilities" are bothered. But people--PLEASE!

I may go jump off the newly eroded sea cliffs.

The Long Road Home

I knew I was back in Florida. It has a new, unmistakable look now. Trees are snapped in half. Debris piles line the roadsides. Billboards are torn, split, splintered and sheared in half. Blue awnings decorate rooftops. Plywood stands stacked against the sides of homes. FEMA simply goes door-to-door offering financial assitance, because no person in the area has been unaffected financially. My beautiful ocean is no longer safe. Debris, deadly rips, churning surf make the water an unfriendly place. My beach is gone. Eroded away. In some places there is a literal 5 ft cliff the drops to the water. I haven't been to the parks we love. The one I saw when driving down the river (crying) was underwater and torn in half. I have to find a time to go when I can be alone. So I can prepare my girls whose lives are already crazy enough as a result of the storms. One of our favorite parks is surrounded by beautiful, tall trees. It's always shady and cool. If it's still there..........

Leaving was hard, but the night before we left, we piped in TV from an extension cord we ran from the neighbors' house. When a Hurricane Ivan update came on, Lindsay started to cry. They don't understand why we can't go back to our regular lives. And I have few answers.

Don't get me wrong. The trip was good. My Mom is always fun to visit. There is room. There are things to do. There are no hurricanes. She cooks for us, all our favorite foods. She does housework. She takes the girls swimming and to the park. We rested, healed and relaxed. The Tn. version of Ivan was even enjoyable. And losing power is not the same when its 63* and not 93* and when you know it will be back in the morning. When you know it won't be cold ravioli for breakfast.

We are here, but its not home yet. We have been deeply affected, as a state, a community, a church body, a family, and as individuals. It's a long road home. But we'll get there.

Portwood News Update

Greetings to all! You are receiving a blog from an actual Portwood, but alas, not the one you expected. This is DH (dear hubby for those of you who are unfamiliar with the abbreviation). I wanted to pop in and give you an update on Dana and the girls since I know you are anxiously checking your computer each day with bated breath, hoping there is another delightful post from Mrs. Portwood. You will just have to content yourself with the posting of the hairier Portwood for now. At this time, Dana and the lovelies are still enjoying Grandma's company in TN and plan on being there until Monday when they will return home. But wait! What is that out in the ocean? That's right! It's another flippin' hurricane! It appears as if Hurricane Jeanne has her left turn signal on and is planning on making landfall in Daytona Beach on Wednesday morning. It is still a little early to tell, but we are going to wait and see what happens before she comes home. It would kind of defeat the purpose of leaving if she was to return to no electricity and another storm. Of course, she did call me last night at 10:00 to inform me that due to a thunderstorm in the area they had lost power. (I have to admit that I evilly chuckled--I mean, come on--she must have a bullseye painted on the top of the van or something!) Relax--it was restored in a few hours. I will keep you posted as to the whereabouts and possible return of the ladies--the house is very quiet, but also very lonely. At least the Mets took 3 out of 5 from the Braves! (Come on--what did you expect? I had to make at least one sports reference in the blog hijacking!) Watch for further updates as time allows.