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hurricane journal
Sep. 3rd, 2012 04:50 pmI didn't really keep a journal during Hurricane Isaac. Perhaps I should have. Parts of it are kind of blurring already in my memory.
Tuesday, August 28. The wind picked up gradually over the course of Tuesday afternoon. Tuesday evening the wind was blowing a bit harder when we lost power at around 7 PM. We gathered in the kitchen, which came to be like our living room for the next several days. It was like a family night by candlelight; we played board games until we got bored of those, and then we headed off for bed. The people upstairs played guitar and generally had a party.
Sleep was elusive. Normally I sleep with a CPAP machine as treatment for apnea, and without it sleep is more like a sequence of dreams that suddenly end and I'm awake. Gusts of wind would occasionally wake me up, the temperature was tolerable but the air was still in the bedroom with no fan or A/C.
Wednesday, August 29. I recall being awake Wednesday morning before the sun came up with the storm going full blast. Wind was blowing the rain more or less horizontally. We opened the kitchen door to see debris in the back yard, leaves and small branches, pools of water (the water never got high, though we later learned that Isaac dropped nearly twice as much rain on NOLA as Hurricane Katrina). The moon was full or nearly full which gave the storm an eerie glow, by which we were able to see what was happening outside. While we stood there by the kitchen door I watched a branch snap off the tree across the yard from us; I looked up at the swaying trees right above us and then looked at R* and said, "It's time to go inside. Now."
A. informed us that his bedroom had sprung a couple of leaks, and he'd moved his bed out of where water had been dripping on him. We had to catch a few of these leaks with buckets, some in places where water had never come through before. We had been worried about water coming in under the door, but it never got that high outside.
We spent most of Wednesday eating canned food cold and hanging out in the kitchen. R*'s phone still had charge so she would read occasional updates on the storm's progress; the center of it had essentially parked about fifty miles away. We caught naps when we could sleep. That evening we played Rummy until folks were sleepy.
Candlelight was not bright enough to read by, so night became a long stretch of boredom, laying alone with my thoughts while being too hot and sweaty to sleep. The bed was absorbing my heat and just holding it there and it got so I felt like I was laying on a heating pad. Eventually some sleep would come. Wednesday night, I was still awakened by occasional wind gusts; the tropical storm was still in the neighborhood.
Thursday, August 30. Thursday we were able to go outside and look at the damage done to the neighborhood. Not too bad, considering; a few trees down, but most looked unscathed. Branches down. Power lines down. The road had a large puddle near the storm drain, which had become blocked with debris. We took a walk down the block to the levee and stood looking at the river and canal while the wind and rain came down on us, still strong. The Coast Guard had posted a pair of boats in the canal nearby. R*'s phone lost its charge, but she found an emergency radio, so we listened to that for a while. Thursday night, sitting around in the kitchen no longer felt like family night; we were just exhausted and hot and bored at this point, eating the last of our canned meals and trickling off to bed. Unable to sleep, I came back out into the kitchen and sat there with my thoughts a long time. R* took to sleeping on the floor, having noticed that the tiles were cooler than anything else in the house. I wound up doing the same that night. I was able to find a position that wasn't too uncomfortable and eventually was able to get some sleep. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and it was totally still, and warm, and quiet, and pitch black.
Friday, August 31. Friday the sun came out and it got significantly warmer. A heat advisory had been issued, meaning that the heat index was 105°. We'd heard on the radio on Thursday that the National Guard was giving out ice, water, and MREs at a place just across the canal from us, so we headed out around 8 AM on Friday to get some. We stood in line with people who were mostly patient, though one guy got a little testy with the guards, complaining that the line of cars was moving much more rapidly than the line of people standing in the sun. He was probably right but not by much, and it mattered little in the end because we were the last folks to get water and MREs and they had to turn everyone after us away. (We heard they restocked and reopened a bit later, but that didn't help the people in line then.) From the radio we learned that some of the outlying rural communities had flooded, and there were concerns of a possibly imminent levee break affecting people on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. Another big point of contention were the lingering power outages. Without power, businesses couldn't get running, and people were running out of the stuff they'd stocked up on before the storm. People used precious gasoline running their cars to use the AC to get a little relief from the heat or keep medicine cool.
The MREs were fairly hearty fare, certainly a bit better than eating food from a can, and perked us up a bit. We had bottled some water before the storm but it was starting to taste a little stale; the freezer and refrigerator had lost all their coolness by this point, so the ice was very welcome. We put chunks of ice in hand towels to keep ourselves cool, and took cold showers. Words cannot convey how thoroughly damp and muggy the air had become at this point; anything that got wet would not dry. We wore clothing soaked through with sweat; changing to fresh clothes would bring a half hour of relief. Our hair became a mess of sweat and grit that washing only cleared up for a short while. Mold grew in places that hadn't even gotten water on them. Ants of all types were coming in the house now, too. I slept on the floor again, getting somewhat better sleep for a change.
Saturday, September 1. Saturday was much the same, and is the day that is most blurry in my memory. Still no power, and another heat advisory day. I got a nap in the middle of the day, falling over on my bed exhausted. After waking I was able to study for a bit -- my classes start next week, but I have my books and wanted to get started. We took another walk around the neighborhood in the evening, and what we saw was not encouraging; standing on the levee we could see that most of the Bywater, Ninth Ward, and even the West Bank across the river were still dark. We were too hot to even eat the MREs at this point; we drank ice water and fanned ourselves and did as little as possible.
Sunday, September 2. Sunday I suggested we go to Walmart. As I said to R*, "I can't believe these words are actually forming in my vocal chords, but I think a trip to Walmart would lift our spirits." It would be an alternative to staring at the walls (we were too hot to even read at this point) or sit outside to be eaten by mosquitoes, which have become very active since the storm. Walmart is a long trip for us, requiring two buses, but we weren't in a hurry, having little else to do, and the buses were air conditioned. We ate at Walmart and shopped very, very slowly, still in no hurry. I could tell, looking at the people around us, which ones were still in hurricane crisis mode (they had water and ice in their shopping carts and had a haggard look to them) and which were restocking. I was kind of shocked to see the fruit, vegetable, meat, and dairy sections of the store so barren; they had probably had to throw out their entire stock after losing power and had not yet gotten in much to replace what had been lost. Finally we left the store and made our way back home. On the bus ride I noted a number of business that had gotten their lights back on since we'd passed them that morning, including the store just across the canal where we do a lot of our shopping - not yet open, but now lit. A neighbor told us a bucket truck had been spotted a couple of blocks away in the neighborhood -- the best thing we'd heard all day! I fell asleep on the bed, probably with mild heat exhaustion; I'd dipped a tee-shirt in ice water and draped this over me, but it was only cold for a few seconds. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday had been heat advisory days. I was woken up by the buzzing thump of the power coming back on around 6 PM.
Today we've been killing mold and fire ants and washing sweat-soaked bedsheets and drying them in the sun, which is blazing hot today.
Tuesday, August 28. The wind picked up gradually over the course of Tuesday afternoon. Tuesday evening the wind was blowing a bit harder when we lost power at around 7 PM. We gathered in the kitchen, which came to be like our living room for the next several days. It was like a family night by candlelight; we played board games until we got bored of those, and then we headed off for bed. The people upstairs played guitar and generally had a party.
Sleep was elusive. Normally I sleep with a CPAP machine as treatment for apnea, and without it sleep is more like a sequence of dreams that suddenly end and I'm awake. Gusts of wind would occasionally wake me up, the temperature was tolerable but the air was still in the bedroom with no fan or A/C.
Wednesday, August 29. I recall being awake Wednesday morning before the sun came up with the storm going full blast. Wind was blowing the rain more or less horizontally. We opened the kitchen door to see debris in the back yard, leaves and small branches, pools of water (the water never got high, though we later learned that Isaac dropped nearly twice as much rain on NOLA as Hurricane Katrina). The moon was full or nearly full which gave the storm an eerie glow, by which we were able to see what was happening outside. While we stood there by the kitchen door I watched a branch snap off the tree across the yard from us; I looked up at the swaying trees right above us and then looked at R* and said, "It's time to go inside. Now."
A. informed us that his bedroom had sprung a couple of leaks, and he'd moved his bed out of where water had been dripping on him. We had to catch a few of these leaks with buckets, some in places where water had never come through before. We had been worried about water coming in under the door, but it never got that high outside.
We spent most of Wednesday eating canned food cold and hanging out in the kitchen. R*'s phone still had charge so she would read occasional updates on the storm's progress; the center of it had essentially parked about fifty miles away. We caught naps when we could sleep. That evening we played Rummy until folks were sleepy.
Candlelight was not bright enough to read by, so night became a long stretch of boredom, laying alone with my thoughts while being too hot and sweaty to sleep. The bed was absorbing my heat and just holding it there and it got so I felt like I was laying on a heating pad. Eventually some sleep would come. Wednesday night, I was still awakened by occasional wind gusts; the tropical storm was still in the neighborhood.
Thursday, August 30. Thursday we were able to go outside and look at the damage done to the neighborhood. Not too bad, considering; a few trees down, but most looked unscathed. Branches down. Power lines down. The road had a large puddle near the storm drain, which had become blocked with debris. We took a walk down the block to the levee and stood looking at the river and canal while the wind and rain came down on us, still strong. The Coast Guard had posted a pair of boats in the canal nearby. R*'s phone lost its charge, but she found an emergency radio, so we listened to that for a while. Thursday night, sitting around in the kitchen no longer felt like family night; we were just exhausted and hot and bored at this point, eating the last of our canned meals and trickling off to bed. Unable to sleep, I came back out into the kitchen and sat there with my thoughts a long time. R* took to sleeping on the floor, having noticed that the tiles were cooler than anything else in the house. I wound up doing the same that night. I was able to find a position that wasn't too uncomfortable and eventually was able to get some sleep. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and it was totally still, and warm, and quiet, and pitch black.
Friday, August 31. Friday the sun came out and it got significantly warmer. A heat advisory had been issued, meaning that the heat index was 105°. We'd heard on the radio on Thursday that the National Guard was giving out ice, water, and MREs at a place just across the canal from us, so we headed out around 8 AM on Friday to get some. We stood in line with people who were mostly patient, though one guy got a little testy with the guards, complaining that the line of cars was moving much more rapidly than the line of people standing in the sun. He was probably right but not by much, and it mattered little in the end because we were the last folks to get water and MREs and they had to turn everyone after us away. (We heard they restocked and reopened a bit later, but that didn't help the people in line then.) From the radio we learned that some of the outlying rural communities had flooded, and there were concerns of a possibly imminent levee break affecting people on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. Another big point of contention were the lingering power outages. Without power, businesses couldn't get running, and people were running out of the stuff they'd stocked up on before the storm. People used precious gasoline running their cars to use the AC to get a little relief from the heat or keep medicine cool.
The MREs were fairly hearty fare, certainly a bit better than eating food from a can, and perked us up a bit. We had bottled some water before the storm but it was starting to taste a little stale; the freezer and refrigerator had lost all their coolness by this point, so the ice was very welcome. We put chunks of ice in hand towels to keep ourselves cool, and took cold showers. Words cannot convey how thoroughly damp and muggy the air had become at this point; anything that got wet would not dry. We wore clothing soaked through with sweat; changing to fresh clothes would bring a half hour of relief. Our hair became a mess of sweat and grit that washing only cleared up for a short while. Mold grew in places that hadn't even gotten water on them. Ants of all types were coming in the house now, too. I slept on the floor again, getting somewhat better sleep for a change.
Saturday, September 1. Saturday was much the same, and is the day that is most blurry in my memory. Still no power, and another heat advisory day. I got a nap in the middle of the day, falling over on my bed exhausted. After waking I was able to study for a bit -- my classes start next week, but I have my books and wanted to get started. We took another walk around the neighborhood in the evening, and what we saw was not encouraging; standing on the levee we could see that most of the Bywater, Ninth Ward, and even the West Bank across the river were still dark. We were too hot to even eat the MREs at this point; we drank ice water and fanned ourselves and did as little as possible.
Sunday, September 2. Sunday I suggested we go to Walmart. As I said to R*, "I can't believe these words are actually forming in my vocal chords, but I think a trip to Walmart would lift our spirits." It would be an alternative to staring at the walls (we were too hot to even read at this point) or sit outside to be eaten by mosquitoes, which have become very active since the storm. Walmart is a long trip for us, requiring two buses, but we weren't in a hurry, having little else to do, and the buses were air conditioned. We ate at Walmart and shopped very, very slowly, still in no hurry. I could tell, looking at the people around us, which ones were still in hurricane crisis mode (they had water and ice in their shopping carts and had a haggard look to them) and which were restocking. I was kind of shocked to see the fruit, vegetable, meat, and dairy sections of the store so barren; they had probably had to throw out their entire stock after losing power and had not yet gotten in much to replace what had been lost. Finally we left the store and made our way back home. On the bus ride I noted a number of business that had gotten their lights back on since we'd passed them that morning, including the store just across the canal where we do a lot of our shopping - not yet open, but now lit. A neighbor told us a bucket truck had been spotted a couple of blocks away in the neighborhood -- the best thing we'd heard all day! I fell asleep on the bed, probably with mild heat exhaustion; I'd dipped a tee-shirt in ice water and draped this over me, but it was only cold for a few seconds. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday had been heat advisory days. I was woken up by the buzzing thump of the power coming back on around 6 PM.
Today we've been killing mold and fire ants and washing sweat-soaked bedsheets and drying them in the sun, which is blazing hot today.
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