Saturday, October 12, 2024

Hurricane Lessons

Yesterday I got an e-mail from Spectrum telling me that because I had used over 5 GB of data, my data would be slowed.  I have never used 5 GB of data, but then again, I've never had my home internet disrupted for 2 weeks resulting in my need to use my phone as a hotspot.  I don't have unlimited data, but I thought that as long as I wanted to pay for the extra GB I used, not a problem.  I had resigned myself to a larger monthly cell phone charge.

Because I'm traveling soon, and because I have no idea when our home internet will be restored, I spent time on the phone with Spectrum to find out what my options were.  I upgraded my phone to unlimited data, which is why I can write a blog post, here in the early morning hours, with my phone as a hotspot.  I can go back to my cheaper by-the-gig plan at whatever point in the future our home internet is restored.

I don't fault Spectrum exactly.  It was an unexpected event, and our neighborhood was hard hit.  I feel lucky to get power, which was restored on Thursday night.  It does remind me of one of the basic rules of hurricane recovery, which is that it will take longer than we think.

Yesterday I went back to campus, where my classes were half full.  I mainly checked in with my students and discussed next week, where I will be out of town.  Long ago, I enrolled in two seminary classes that have an onground intensive week Oct. 14-18.  It's not ideal timing in terms of getting students back into a routine, but I don't have options.

Frankly, I think that students can use the time to catch up.  I'm feeling a bit of hurricane brain fog.  But I expected that.  I've gone through hurricanes before.  I expect that recovery will take a long time and years from now, I'll find myself feeling weepy about the autumn I thought I would have and the autumn of 2024 that I actually had.

It puts me in mind of a poem I wrote.  I've posted it before, but it's worth reposting.  Paper Nautilus published my poem "What They Don't Tell You About Hurricanes," but I'm fairly sure that this title is not my original creation. I'm almost sure there's an essay with the same title in the wonderful book Writing Creative Nonfiction. The essay stays with me even now, the writer who bought his dream boat, only to see it destroyed by Hurricane Fran. I'd look it up, except that I don't own the book.

So, here's the poem, all of it true, except for the reference to an industrial wasteland. I wouldn't have written it at all, except for the strange incident of weeping in the parking garage some 4 or 5 years after Hurricanes Katrina and Wilma. The industrial wasteland is actually a water treatment plant, but I changed it for some dramatic impact.


What They Don’t Tell You About Hurricanes


You expected the ache in your lazy
muscles, as you hauled debris
to the curb, day after day.

You expected your insurance
agent to treat
you like a lover spurned.

You expected to curse
your bad luck,
but then feel grateful
when you met someone suffering
an even more devastating loss.

You did not expect
that months, even years afterwards,
you would find yourself inexplicably
weeping in your car, parked
in a garage that overlooks
an industrial wasteland.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

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Anonymous said...

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