Saturday, October 7, 2017. What's Next? The computer predictions as to the direction of Hurricane Nate all seem to point to to the middle of New Orleans. I don't have a radio show, so the natural optimism I roll out when I am on the air has nothing to work with. Mary Ann and I have breakfast at Mattina Bella, where I have the steak and eggs. I'm trying to compensate for the seafood-jammed dinner I had last night at Andrea's.
I only order the steak and eggs once in awhile. They remind me of the Buck Forty Nine Steak House of the 1960s to the 1990s. Mattina Bella owner Vincent Riccobono managed the Buck Forty Nine until it closed. That explains the unexpected goodness of this little breakfast steak, made with New York strip and sent out perfectly done. At $14 for the whole platter, it may be the best steak bargain in town. And I will not need to eat anything else for the rest of the day.
After that, I headed out on my usual Saturday errands, one of which is to get some deli ham and turkey to tide us over if we are stranded at the Cool Water Ranch in the next few days. I have already filled a bathtub with water. The ranch is on a water well, and if the power goes out--which I consider inevitable--I need a means of flushing. I also have about a dozen orange-juice bottles filled with the eminently drinkable water. We are ready for Nate.
At least, I am. I would learn that Mary Leigh, comfortable in her apartment in town, will attend a party in the apartment building. What does she care about hurricanes?
It's cloudy and steamy outside. I take a long hike around the ranch, then a long nap. When I return from the semi-conscious, I find Mary Ann--who disdains my interest in the weather, as does daughter Mary Leigh--watching the Weather Channel. I didn't even know we had that here.
I go back to my computer screen and get that perpective. Nothing has really changed. New Orleans is still at the bull's eye on all the charts. Nate is still moving very fast, still getting a little more powerful moment by moment, and on the verge of Category 1. Some predictions foresaw Category 2. Bigger news was the height of the storm surge, which hit the Gulf Coast in Mississippi with waves as high as the third or higher levels of the big casinos (which had long since been ordered to shut down until the storm was over).
By eight, MA has long since gone to bed. I'm watching reports from many sources. New Orleans is still in the center of wind, but not entirely from rain. The wet stuff looks as though it might not be a problem until after the storm takes its projected hard right turn, by which time it would be in the rearview mirror of the eye of the storm.
I go in and out of sleep in my easy chair. I sleep through all of Saturday Night Live. I go to bed, and wonder what time the storm will hit the French Quarter, what time the power would go out, and which trees looked more liable to downing.
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Sunday, October 8, 2017. Strange But Glad Awakening. I had been sleeping in my bed since around ten last evening. The storm has allegedly passed tropical-storm status to become a full hurricane. That was the status when I fell asleep last night.
But now, at a little before six in the morning was puzzling. First of all, the clock noting that time was glowing. So was a night light on the other side of the room. And the air conditioner was running. We still had power! Wait! What time is it? What? six forty-five?
I listened to outside signs. We have a tin roof, so raindrops do not hide their presence. I heard no rustling in the trees from their unmoving leaves. I looked at the clock again. It was very much on, with the correct time. How is it possible? Where's the hurricane? Or am I crazy?
I was still mulling this over when the sun came up and dayime showed details. The deck, which I had figured as dripping with storm water, looked as if a five-minute drizzle had come and gone.
I got out of bed and checked the computer screen. It showed the eye of the storm moving rapidly northeast. The local radar showed no sign of rain. I expanded the view, and saw the same situation. Nate was finished, at least as New Orleans and environs were concerned. Again I asked myself, "How is this possible?"
All this reminded me of the train trip I took a few months ago. On the way home, in the darkness I completely lost track of where we were. Somewhere on the West Bank, but how did we get there? It spooked me to the core.
Now, I had no conclusion about Hurricane Nate but that it had died suddenly somehow. Which was about right. Still. . . were all my worries of the last week or so been unnecessary?
Written by Tom Fitzmorris October 10, 2017 06:01 in
