Anyone else getting sick (not sick OF) watching Isabel?
Posted: Wed Sep 17, 2003 10:02 pm
She was great to watch when she was swimming out in the Atlantic. But now, my stomach hurts from watching and waiting, and I'm nowhere near her path.
I remember how almost inconsolable I was when Bret was heading north -- the first cane I really watched since my move down here to TX. I was scared out of my gourd and I was sick and tired of everyone saying "He's gonna turn and go to the border." I didn't understand then what I understand now about steering currents. I was soooo glad he turned.
Isidore and Lili were iffy last year, but we were all pretty confident about their paths as they closed in. We were ready, just in case. But all went well for TX.
Claudette was close, but not so close that we had to leave. But afterwards, I realized how strong she was and how much damage a Cat 1/2 (did they ever decide?) can do. I'm surprised by the people that I work with who believe it's just "a lot of wind and rain."
I know it's just going to break my heart when I see the pictures of damage from Isabel. I pray to God the ones who stayed are safe. She's stronger than Claudette and could be more so when she makes landfall. I'm sick of hearing the news guys say "Isabel is weakening as she nears the coast." She is weakened. But she is not weakening. It is not an ongoing process with her. She is not still in the act of weakening. Can they get a clue?
I can't imagine having to leave your home, knowing that storm is coming right towards it. Taking only what you could take on a moment's notice in your car. Your most valued possessions -- family pictures, school achievements and awards, the family Bible, your deceased parents' wedding album, your baby book with your first lock of hair, your own wedding album, your own child's baby book with his/her first lock of hair. All those basics that they tell you to take -- birth certificate, insurance papers, utility and credit card and bank papers, insurance info...stuff that usually sits in a few file folders that are always there in your desk and are always meant to be filed there because you have it organized like that and you don't want them anywhere else. Your emergency kit that you always have prepared, but then always had to dust off in May just to check it again for hurricane season...even though you figured it was just going to get dusty again over the next year. And finally, those few last minute things that you see you can grab and fit in those few empty spaces in the trunk.
And then, having to drive away, not knowing what you'll come back home to. Not knowing if you'll have a home to come back home to. Not knowing if what isn't taken by the wind and water won't be taken away by looters. Just not knowing...until it's all over.
And I just can't imagine staying. I can't imagine sitting there for hours...waiting. Hearing the wind, hearing the rain...nonstop. Hearing debris blowing around and crashing against a board over a window. Hearing siding rip away from the house. No electricity for hours and you can't open the windows because the storm is still moving in. Feeling the drop in pressure. Feeling your ears pop and your headache. Seeing nothing but darkness and the glow of a flashlight. Listening to that automated voice on your NOAA weather radio. Smelling God knows whatever a hurricane smells like. And then feeling all that get more and more worse as the hours pass.
Right now, I'm beyond caring about a 3 millibar drop or increase in pressure, Dvorak numbers, cloud tops, convection, and flight level winds (no offense, pro and amateur mets
). I'll care about that stuff in a week when we review her history and statistics and behavior. I'll care about it next seaon when we compare her to another Cape Verde storm cruising along in the Atlantic. I'll care about it when someone brings her up years from now and I can say, "Oh yeah, I remember tracking her and I remember how she did this and how she did that and I remember first learning about annular hurricanes by watching her" and so on. She'll be a memory by then...and I'm sure one a lot of us will remember.
Right now, she's just hours from landfall and the "watching and waiting and wondering" where she's going and what she's doing is over. She's going to be a CONUS hit in the NC/VA area and she's going to be at least a 2, if not worse, unless some miracle happens in the next 12 hours.
Does watching these things ever get easier?
I remember how almost inconsolable I was when Bret was heading north -- the first cane I really watched since my move down here to TX. I was scared out of my gourd and I was sick and tired of everyone saying "He's gonna turn and go to the border." I didn't understand then what I understand now about steering currents. I was soooo glad he turned.
Isidore and Lili were iffy last year, but we were all pretty confident about their paths as they closed in. We were ready, just in case. But all went well for TX.
Claudette was close, but not so close that we had to leave. But afterwards, I realized how strong she was and how much damage a Cat 1/2 (did they ever decide?) can do. I'm surprised by the people that I work with who believe it's just "a lot of wind and rain."
I know it's just going to break my heart when I see the pictures of damage from Isabel. I pray to God the ones who stayed are safe. She's stronger than Claudette and could be more so when she makes landfall. I'm sick of hearing the news guys say "Isabel is weakening as she nears the coast." She is weakened. But she is not weakening. It is not an ongoing process with her. She is not still in the act of weakening. Can they get a clue?
I can't imagine having to leave your home, knowing that storm is coming right towards it. Taking only what you could take on a moment's notice in your car. Your most valued possessions -- family pictures, school achievements and awards, the family Bible, your deceased parents' wedding album, your baby book with your first lock of hair, your own wedding album, your own child's baby book with his/her first lock of hair. All those basics that they tell you to take -- birth certificate, insurance papers, utility and credit card and bank papers, insurance info...stuff that usually sits in a few file folders that are always there in your desk and are always meant to be filed there because you have it organized like that and you don't want them anywhere else. Your emergency kit that you always have prepared, but then always had to dust off in May just to check it again for hurricane season...even though you figured it was just going to get dusty again over the next year. And finally, those few last minute things that you see you can grab and fit in those few empty spaces in the trunk.
And then, having to drive away, not knowing what you'll come back home to. Not knowing if you'll have a home to come back home to. Not knowing if what isn't taken by the wind and water won't be taken away by looters. Just not knowing...until it's all over.
And I just can't imagine staying. I can't imagine sitting there for hours...waiting. Hearing the wind, hearing the rain...nonstop. Hearing debris blowing around and crashing against a board over a window. Hearing siding rip away from the house. No electricity for hours and you can't open the windows because the storm is still moving in. Feeling the drop in pressure. Feeling your ears pop and your headache. Seeing nothing but darkness and the glow of a flashlight. Listening to that automated voice on your NOAA weather radio. Smelling God knows whatever a hurricane smells like. And then feeling all that get more and more worse as the hours pass.
Right now, I'm beyond caring about a 3 millibar drop or increase in pressure, Dvorak numbers, cloud tops, convection, and flight level winds (no offense, pro and amateur mets
). I'll care about that stuff in a week when we review her history and statistics and behavior. I'll care about it next seaon when we compare her to another Cape Verde storm cruising along in the Atlantic. I'll care about it when someone brings her up years from now and I can say, "Oh yeah, I remember tracking her and I remember how she did this and how she did that and I remember first learning about annular hurricanes by watching her" and so on. She'll be a memory by then...and I'm sure one a lot of us will remember.
Right now, she's just hours from landfall and the "watching and waiting and wondering" where she's going and what she's doing is over. She's going to be a CONUS hit in the NC/VA area and she's going to be at least a 2, if not worse, unless some miracle happens in the next 12 hours.
Does watching these things ever get easier?