Peace, be still...
So, every once in a while, the Big Guy leaves a message on my inner answering machine. This is one of those times.
If you know me, you know that I am a little bit of a control freak. Pretty much the worst thing you can hand me is a situation over which I have absolutely no control.
For those of you not currently residing on Planet Earth (or admittedly, someone outside the US bereft of the blessings of CNN International), a GINORMOUS hurricane by the completely non-threatening name of Ike is bearing down on the town I call home, Houston.
As Pops Sanford would say, "This is the big one, Elizabeth!"
A little bit about my current nemesis, Ike. He's a big guy, around 800 miles across, runs a 11-12 minute mile (give the guy a break, he's HUGE!), and a big wind bag. One hundred mile an hour winds, to be exact, and tipping the scale at Category 3. He plans to party on the Galveston Sea Wall tonight. After he trashes that, he's gonna come see about Houston.
Aaaand as luck would have it, I am in Brussels. As in Belgium. As in 5000 miles from where I'd rather be, putting up my dukes against this unwanted visitor.
Hence my celestial voice-mail. Once I got the text message saying that British Airways had cancelled all flights to Houston for Friday and Saturday, September 12 and 13, I was in overdrive. Trying (vainly) to get in touch with BA to see how close to Houston I could get (should I fly west of Houston and bypass Ike? Or fly to the east and try to outrun it? If I stay in Brussels, when will I be able to go home? Home? What about my house? Who is going to watch it? Omigodomigodomigod what am I going to do???
It quickly became clear that nothing could be done until the morning, since the European offices of BA keep banker's hours and the US and UK offices have toll-free numbers that, alas, can only be dialed from the US or the UK (there's something vaguely wrong about that, but I digress).
After a fitful night full of tossing, turning, and dreams of storms and missed flights, I awoke at 9 today (Friday) to see what I could do.
The short version is, sit my generous butt down and wait it out.
BA was more than willing to fly me anywhere they flew, which helped me not at all. Sure, I could go to Phoenix, Chicago, NYC or LA. But then what? Whilst some of those options came with free couches on which to pass the night(s) until I could get to Houston, none came with free tickets to Houston or the nearest alternatives, San Antonio or Austin. And then what?
I realized I was listening to the light packer's panic over running out of clean underthings and daily meds; at which point cooler heads reminded me that access to both was likely readily available in the first world capital city of Brussels.
Which left me to accept BA's offer of a rebooking to fly on Sunday and pray that Houston isn't closed down for too long.
From which the careful reader would then infer that the aforementioned sitting and waiting is now in force.
In my 40 (almost 41!!!) years on this earth, I have been "involved" with 2 other hurricanes. I experienced Hugo, my first, also away from home, at a camp in South Carolina in September, 1989. We knew a hurricane was coming, but a) it was forecast for landfall in Savannah, GA and b) even if it hit further up the coast, York, SC (where I was running a retreat) and Charlotte, NC (where my roommate was home alone) were several hours inland and not considered to be in the path of the storm.
Like my boy, Ike (can it be a coincidence that I comes after H?), Hugo had his own plans. He came onshore at Charleston, SC instead and ran full bore through both York AND Charlotte.
I never want to endure another hurricane with nothing between me and nature's fury but a log cabin. Really!
My second, Rita, was more of an epic journey of futility. In September, 2005, coming right on the heels of Killer Katrina, she had the attention of the entire city of Houston when she led the National Hurricane Center on and made a date to tango on our turf. So I left town, along with a million of my closest friends. It took 11 hours to make the 3-hour trip to Austin (a long story I would have blogged about had I been blogging then), where I watched Rita make a late-stage shimmy to the East and pretty much miss Houston entirely.
Did I mention that both the hit and the miss, like Ike, fell on or around my birthday? It really is enough to make one wonder. If nothing else, about mid-season hurricanes.
(For the record, Gustav's Labor Day near-miss threatened to delay my departure for Brussels. Hmmm.)
All that to say, I am personally very well aware of what can happen. I would like nothing more than to be hunkering down in my cute little house, waiting for the inevitable and being at the battle stations should defensive action be required.
But I'm here, in Brussels, in a 4th floor walk-up apartment (evilly considered 3rd floor here on the Continent), on a borrowed laptop, scanning news websites and...
...waiting.
I am so working on that.
If you know me, you know that I am a little bit of a control freak. Pretty much the worst thing you can hand me is a situation over which I have absolutely no control.
For those of you not currently residing on Planet Earth (or admittedly, someone outside the US bereft of the blessings of CNN International), a GINORMOUS hurricane by the completely non-threatening name of Ike is bearing down on the town I call home, Houston.
As Pops Sanford would say, "This is the big one, Elizabeth!"
A little bit about my current nemesis, Ike. He's a big guy, around 800 miles across, runs a 11-12 minute mile (give the guy a break, he's HUGE!), and a big wind bag. One hundred mile an hour winds, to be exact, and tipping the scale at Category 3. He plans to party on the Galveston Sea Wall tonight. After he trashes that, he's gonna come see about Houston.
Aaaand as luck would have it, I am in Brussels. As in Belgium. As in 5000 miles from where I'd rather be, putting up my dukes against this unwanted visitor.
Hence my celestial voice-mail. Once I got the text message saying that British Airways had cancelled all flights to Houston for Friday and Saturday, September 12 and 13, I was in overdrive. Trying (vainly) to get in touch with BA to see how close to Houston I could get (should I fly west of Houston and bypass Ike? Or fly to the east and try to outrun it? If I stay in Brussels, when will I be able to go home? Home? What about my house? Who is going to watch it? Omigodomigodomigod what am I going to do???
It quickly became clear that nothing could be done until the morning, since the European offices of BA keep banker's hours and the US and UK offices have toll-free numbers that, alas, can only be dialed from the US or the UK (there's something vaguely wrong about that, but I digress).
After a fitful night full of tossing, turning, and dreams of storms and missed flights, I awoke at 9 today (Friday) to see what I could do.
The short version is, sit my generous butt down and wait it out.
BA was more than willing to fly me anywhere they flew, which helped me not at all. Sure, I could go to Phoenix, Chicago, NYC or LA. But then what? Whilst some of those options came with free couches on which to pass the night(s) until I could get to Houston, none came with free tickets to Houston or the nearest alternatives, San Antonio or Austin. And then what?
I realized I was listening to the light packer's panic over running out of clean underthings and daily meds; at which point cooler heads reminded me that access to both was likely readily available in the first world capital city of Brussels.
Which left me to accept BA's offer of a rebooking to fly on Sunday and pray that Houston isn't closed down for too long.
From which the careful reader would then infer that the aforementioned sitting and waiting is now in force.
In my 40 (almost 41!!!) years on this earth, I have been "involved" with 2 other hurricanes. I experienced Hugo, my first, also away from home, at a camp in South Carolina in September, 1989. We knew a hurricane was coming, but a) it was forecast for landfall in Savannah, GA and b) even if it hit further up the coast, York, SC (where I was running a retreat) and Charlotte, NC (where my roommate was home alone) were several hours inland and not considered to be in the path of the storm.
Like my boy, Ike (can it be a coincidence that I comes after H?), Hugo had his own plans. He came onshore at Charleston, SC instead and ran full bore through both York AND Charlotte.
I never want to endure another hurricane with nothing between me and nature's fury but a log cabin. Really!
My second, Rita, was more of an epic journey of futility. In September, 2005, coming right on the heels of Killer Katrina, she had the attention of the entire city of Houston when she led the National Hurricane Center on and made a date to tango on our turf. So I left town, along with a million of my closest friends. It took 11 hours to make the 3-hour trip to Austin (a long story I would have blogged about had I been blogging then), where I watched Rita make a late-stage shimmy to the East and pretty much miss Houston entirely.
Did I mention that both the hit and the miss, like Ike, fell on or around my birthday? It really is enough to make one wonder. If nothing else, about mid-season hurricanes.
(For the record, Gustav's Labor Day near-miss threatened to delay my departure for Brussels. Hmmm.)
All that to say, I am personally very well aware of what can happen. I would like nothing more than to be hunkering down in my cute little house, waiting for the inevitable and being at the battle stations should defensive action be required.
But I'm here, in Brussels, in a 4th floor walk-up apartment (evilly considered 3rd floor here on the Continent), on a borrowed laptop, scanning news websites and...
...waiting.
Be still and know that I am God. - Psalm 46
I am so working on that.
posted by YankeeHobbit | 2:50 PM
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