Ran across this account of Hurricane Wilma’s aftermath while cleaning out my desk. Though I wrote about Hurricane Andrew’s passing, it’s certainly not for consumption. Our experiences after Wilma, though, are simply boring. Putting it here to save it.

Hubris and the Hurricane or How We Found our Miracle

::Cue the Gilligan’s Island theme::

No phone, no motorcar, not a single luxury. October 25th, 2005. The day after Wilma rolled through south Florida. Tonie (Oldest Daughter) appeared at our door, an hour north of her home, with a quarter tank of gas.

We had started cleaning up the yard – everyone lost trees, and I told Mike not to worry about the ficus hedge laying on its side. If it’s warm enough you can plop a ficus down on pavement and it will grow between the cracks – anyway… Tonie presented her idea of going north for gas and food. We’d done that after Andrew and it had worked a treat! Ft. Lauderdale was normal while we down in Miami lived in a combat zone. What we didn’t realize was… while Andrew was a compact Cat 5, Wilma, though only a Cat 3, was huge. The problems associated with storms reached from Miami through Palm Beach.

Mike and I acquiesced and we drove up to Palm Beach (this is Broward county), further and further north. The gas situation was looking more dire than ever. No one had power and we were forced off at I95 and Okeechobee. I was on the mobile looking for an open station, with no luck.

We finally came upon a station with lines of cars stretching a mile down the road. The owner was hand cranking the fuel – but for cans only.

Turning right onto Military Trail we pulled into a 7/11 type station where they were selling warm beer and cigs, cash only. They gave us directions to get back on Okeechobee where we found four stations with power that were pumping -past the turnpike. I purchased three 1 gallon cans (all I could get) in case we needed them.

The station with the shortest lines were still a mile long. We dispersed, one in the car line and two in can lines. If the gas had run out we’d have been stranded there all night. Our miracle was that Tonie’s was the last vehicle in the car line to get gas.

We made it home at 9:30p. Suffice it to say we keep plenty of gas for storms now.

This is not all…

Pink Sky at Morn

As usual I went out with the dogs early this morning. The day was breaking. Soft tendrils of pink floated across the western sky.. then billowed, like cream in coffee. Then upon entering the back yard, I saw much the same, but on a grander scale: the eastern sky was alight with corals and pinks! Alive with color, pinks alone wove their way north then settled west, as if the angels were knitting.

No, I can’t take a decent photograph of the sky.

That’s not pink, silly.

Not this morning. Dug this out of my drafts folder.

This a.m. I was up early to take Badgy in for a dental cleaning. Didn’t make it, though. Washed the car yesterday but didn’t drive it… doh! At 700 hours I was pulling back into the drive, having made a u-turn not a quarter mile away because of a flat-ish tire. Also, the brakes sounded like I was dragging a cow under the front bumper.

Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed.

I was having a panic attack at leaving Badger, anyway. I KNOW! But she’s been my (near) constant companion since the whole covid thing started and I’ve bonded to her like a duckling to its keeper. It’s fecking ridiculous, but there it is. Talk about an emotional support animal.

Hope everyone is well. All one of you. Hiya Joanie! ❤

Oh, the tropical storm. Guess I had more to say than I thought. For a storm it packed quite a little punch. Suffice it to say our trees are clean.. and their crap scattered all over the yard. Took two hours to pick up the front yard. Haven’t touched the back yet.

Scintillating, right? The only other news is my latest bout of poison ivy is healing nicely.

Peace out.


My digital picture folders start with May, 2004. Thought I’d pull some out into the fresh air.

At a park
Same park, hugging on the man.
YsD. I miss her.
…and me, for some reason.

There were a couple of young Breagha, but I can’t.

Loathsome August

I do hate this month so, so much. Here I am, larking about the place… dogs in tow, fire extinguisher in hand… (I’m not a good cook) and 1,000 miles away a fecking great bloody hurricane storms up the Texas/Louisiana border lashing everything half to death with the waters of the Gulf.

It’s not as if I wanted the blasted thing here, but there is an element of… guilt… for some reason. We south Floridians have had so many similar ‘episodes’ that we might be better equipped to deal, if you understand me. We’ve had to rebuild our homes. The cracker box has Cat 4 windows (even if they did install them wrong side around – shhh… don’t tell the man!), a new roof and new doors that Jesus himself, should He decide to come round for a cuppa, couldn’t manage without a key.

A Cat 4 is catastrophic anywhere, though. I’m not looking at the aftermath because I don’t need to – August 24, 1992 is still fresh in my mind. Hurricane Andrew blew in as a Cat 5 and changed the landscape… and many lives… forever. Laura will do the same as those before her.

People ask -as if no one’s thought it before- “why would you live in such a place?” Gee, why would anyone live in ‘tornado alley’? There are many reasons, but most important among ours is money. Will we move when the man retires? I don’t know. There is the ocean, after all…

This is just to say: Feck off, August.

Back Down the Hole

I think this picture adequately describes my mood.

In other news, my long time stylist retired. Yes, I am bereft. Guess my long, stringy hair will remain that way…