Here comes the story of the hurricane...

I'll be the first to admit that a year ago I was a firm believer that hurricanes were just a really big storm. Obviously, I knew there were exceptions to the rule, but I always thought that, of the natural disasters, hurricanes were low on my worry list. I mean, you get several days of advanced notice, you know it's coming, and often the darn things don't amount to anything.

Of course, this was before I moved to a tiny island that once hosted the deadliest hurricane of all time. One one hand, there's a certain attitude that comes with being a Galveston resident. You can't help but feel a little badass that you live two blocks from the projects, have to drive more than thirty miles to eat at a chain restaurant, and that your whole city could be (and once was) destroyed in a single day. Whenever I tell mainlanders that I reside on the island, the reaction is a combination of shock and horror, and I kind of like that. In general, I really love living here, but my affinity for the strange island takes a strange turn when a hurricane is in the gulf.

Our first weekend here, we were initiated to coastal living with our very first hurricane, appropriately named Erin. Logically, I am very concerned about hurricanes. When the weather channel shows our barely visible island covered in a gigantic red blob, I freak out a little. I dig through the closet to locate the "important stuff" box, and make sure I have gas in my tank. I watch the weather channel for absurd amounts of time, watching the same five-minute segment of unpredictable Doppler maps and I read all of the "severe weather warnings" in effect for my county. Then I start thinking about when, if necessary, we will evacuate and how long it will take, and what we will take, just like any island citizen should. Sometimes I'll even stock up on bottled water and make sure we have plenty of food for ourselves and the dogs. I keep flashlights and candles in every room of the house and I know where all of the lighters are. I charge my phone every single day, and I always say that as soon as we are to the voluntary evacuation stage, we are headed north.

I do EVERYTHING you're supposed to do to prepare for a hurricane and waste hours of my life thinking and planning, and yet every single time it turns out to be a big fat nothing. It's not like I want our whole neighborhood to be washed away, or that I want anyone's lives to be ruined, but just once I'd like to maybe loose power for a few hours, or have a few palm trees uproot, or even just enough impending danger so that they cancel school and work and we get to spend a long weekend in Dallas. Just once I'd like for a hurricane to amount to something, to be headed straight for us and in the last hour spin right out of reach or to hit as a Category 1, just so we can say we survived a hurricane (and we would, our building was one of very few to survive the 1900 hurricane). It just seems like for all of the hype and excitement, the whole thing is usually a big let down. Like with Dolly, as I was driving home from class on Monday, probably the hottest day yet this summer, I perked up on my normally boring drive when I saw the highway alert signs flashing "Hurricane forming in gulf, fill up your gas tank!" So Ross and I anxiously watched the weather channel all night, planning our escape, if necessary, and discussing under what conditions we would leave. We were ready! We were fearless and totally prepared to face this natural disaster. 24-hours later, it appears that we will get nothing more than a week of light drizzle, which will be just enough to revive the parched mosquito population.

During the last "hurricane" we decided to brave the storm and drive up the seawall to the grocery store. Sure, it was rainy, and windy, and we probably shouldn't have been driving ten yards from the ocean, but it just seems like if the Rainforest Cafe Volcano is still burning bright, we're probably going to make it.

Until all hope is lost, I guess I'll just cross my fingers that Dolly takes a nasty turn and my class will be canceled tomorrow. As much as I like to say I've grown up, I'm still a sucker for a snow (or hurricane) day.