Lisa Browder

I apologize that this post is a few days late. There’s a reason.

Hurricane Ian. Now there was a stressor. So much so that I was unable to accomplish any of my calendared projects for the vacation time I had scheduled. Instead, I was obsessed with television’s dire reports of Ian’s impending landfall in Tampa. I sat glued to the screen until I couldn’t listen to one more – not one more – report. My solution when stressed? Sleep. It halts the endless, repeating loop of questions.

I mean, who do you listen to? Do you stay or do you hit the gas pedal? As a newcomer to Florida, I had no experience with hurricanes, so I solicited neighborhood opinions. They ran contrary to all the meteorologists, probably because everybody wants to hang on to the comfortable and familiar, right?

Every weather expert suggested moving inland. Personally, I was thinking Alaska. I don’t live in a flood zone and hadn’t been told to evacuate. Did that mean I was inland enough? I was only a 20-minute drive from the bay. It seemed to me that a projected 18 to 20-foot surge might just make it to my house.

Neighbors all shrugged and said they weren’t leaving, that everything would be fine. How could they know that? Was it all bravado? Virtually every one of them countered my question with one of their own: “Is this your first hurricane?” If that was meant to mollify, it didn’t work.

But the water wasn’t my biggest concern. I wasn’t as worried about swimming out of my house as to what the wind might do. I may not have much experience with hurricanes, but I grew up in Texas and I’m quite familiar with tornadoes. I have a tremendous fear of unpredictable, life-threatening winds. When I looked at the giant oak trees draped over my kitchen, porch and bedroom, I was terrified of my roof caving in if a branch split off or the whole damn tree was uprooted.

So then why not just leave? If I’m not in a flood zone, I haven’t been told to evacuate and all my neighbors are unconcerned, maybe it did make sense to stay. And if I left, I’d have to crate two cats (imagine what a fun trip that would be), drive across the country, and pay for a hotel and food for who knows how many days. If the storm changed course and part of my return route was flooded, it might be weeks before I could get home. And then if I’d packed in a panic, you can be sure I’d end up without necessities like underwear but would have managed to take the probiotic capsules.

I had batteries; a fan to keep the cats cool if electricity failed; flashlights; a tarp in case the skylight got sucked away and I needed to save the furniture; non-perishable food; and enough water for the state of Texas (7 cases). Don’t you dare laugh.

There was nothing left to do but think. I got so scared at one point I typed up a will and stored it in a plastic bag on my desk. I didn’t want frivolous emails to be the last thing my family remembered. I wanted them to know I’d had a good life and I loved them; I wanted them to carry on and be happy. Well yes, okay, I also wanted them to know they were not free to get rid of my furry children. Love has its limits, you know.

Then, mentally exhausted, I muted the television reporters who were kindly sharing videos of past disasters and did what any self-respecting naysayer would do. I slept.

As it turned out, I was fine. Other than a bunch of leaves and a few branches strewn about, everything was intact – except maybe me. I started this thing right before my 70th birthday; I’m pretty sure I now look 80.

On a different but related note: There’s a building downtown – Old City Hall, built in 1815 – that has the faces of Seminole Indian maidens etched on the corners and between the windows. Legend has it that the Seminole Indians protect Tampa from winds and rain. Well they sure as hell came through big time, didn’t they?

I don’t really believe in legends. I think it probably has more to do with the topography. Nevertheless, I’m headed over to leave an offering. I’m thinking maybe bottled water.