The Big One

Sixteen years ago I got a phone call from my sister. "I was just talking to Howard (a cop friend in Charleston) and he says we're gettin' a hurricane named Hugo that is THE BIG ONE!" she screamed.

"Yeah, right," I yawned as I hung up.

Before that, back in the mid 80s, I lived in an oceanfront apartment at Surfside Beach. The rent was $450/month. It was expensive for me back then, but so cool I worked hard to afford it. Hurricane season was a nightmare. We were always getting dire warnings and alerts, and evacuating, and moving furniture, and then all would be clear. I got sick of it. After awhile, no matter how dire the warnings, we just kept on going. We'd leave, but we'd leave everything else--the photo albums, the pearls from my grandmother, the cross stitch...

Time passed and I was living in the middle of South Carolina when Hugo came through, but I learned to respect hurricanes that week.

My old oceanfront apartment?

well...the only life forms living in it now are named SpongeBob Squarepants.

For it is under the sea.

I hope New Orleans comes through this one...