Category Archives: family muses

Is U.S. Ready for Hurricane Season?

You know as a resident of the Texas Gulf Coast, living less than 5o miles from the Gulf of Mexico I read articles like this and I am worried, very worried…

Is U.S. Ready for Hurricane Season?: “‘Last year we didn’t have a clue,’ said the acting FEMA director, R. David Paulison. The agency will put satellite tracking devices on trucks leaving its two largest logistics centers — in Denton, Tex., and Atlanta — to avoid a repeat of post-Katrina efforts, when critical supplies such as ice and generators arrived days or weeks late, sometimes after circling the country.”

Hurricane Katrina in the Gulf of Mexico near i...
Hurricane Katrina in the Gulf of Mexico near its peak Category 5 intensity (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Why is it only the appointed directors of FEMA that don’t have a clue…and why should I trust them now? I watched last year as Rita bore down on the Houston/Galveston Region with ground zero originally being to the west of Freeport, which would have been the worst case scenario for my home and family. By the time on Wednesday that I had finished boarding up and securing my home (two plus days before landfall), the fiasco that was to be was already beginning. News reports of the traffic disaster were already beginning to filter on to the airways. And while none of the local weather guys was reporting it almost all of the forecasted tracks were beginning to show a slight veer to the east. After discussing the situation we decided that we had the time and resources to wait and see what was happening in the next 24 hours…turned out this was the right choice. Had we made the run we would have spent all of that time sitting on the road and might never have gotten anywhere in the end.

“‘We’re ready for this upcoming hurricane season — assuming that the American public does their part and they get ready as well,” said George W. Foresman, DHS undersecretary for preparedness.”

Gives you the warm fuzzies, doesn’t it. This ownership society we know have where if everything goes wrong, you own the problem not the people you hired (voted for (or not)) to own the problem. So America, you are warned, as long as everything goes right your government is doing it’s job…but when the fertilizer hits the fan…it was because you did not do your part. by the way has anyone told you what your part now is?

I am assuming that we now must have new guidelines to follow since the old ones didn’t work. Have you got your two month supply of spam in storage?

My plans haven’t changed much if any. Food and water in the pantry (we’ll start buying a few extra cans of food stuffs each week through the summer, if we need it it’s there if not we eat it through the winter), batteries in the flashlights, gas in the gas cans (used for lawn work and kept filled between times). But number one we watch the approaching storms online ourselves, do our own forecasting, do not depend on television news mongers to hype the event.

“But plans to assign the Justice Department responsibility for law enforcement and the Housing and Urban Development management of temporary housing are not yet completed. Neither is a new national emergency communications strategy or an infrastructure-protection plan due June 1.”

Unseasonable Spring

I was sitting at the kitchen table this morning with the doors and windows open enjoying our unseasonably cool morning, answering email and reading the daily news and views (as in blogs), when my youngest daughter wandered in and wanted to know why the AC wasn’t on. Now folks, the outside temperature at the time was just hitting 72 (I told you it was unseasonable for SE Texas), and I had really been enjoying the breeze along with the birdsong and wind chimes.

I think the poor girl would shrivel up and die if she had to go through the summers we went through with only an attic fan. Now for those of you who don’t know what an attic fan is, it’s a large fan that is built into the ceiling (usually in a central hallway) that pulls the hot air out of the house. Usually, when you ran it all night with the bedroom windows open it would get so cool you had to have a quilt or a blanket before morning. During the day you would turn the speed of the fan down and close up the house to keep the cool in while blowing just enough fresh air through the attic to keep the heat from building up too high before evening when you would start the whole cycle over.

As I remember things, the fan would provide a low white noise (not that we knew what that was back then) and you could still hear the night sounds through the open window. I guess we could be a little more trusting back then, ’cause I’m sure not many folks today would want a window open all night by their bed…

Being as we were deep south here the only real disadvantage to this whole affair was that the humidity would still permeate the whole house and everything in it. Even so, some night I really miss the old days.

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Where I’m From

Fred First asks “Where Are You from?” and adds a template to help answer the question . Check out his page and make your own life poem.

Where I’M From by Gary Boyd

Gary BoydI am from books by the dozen that started me dreaming, from Lava Soap and bare feet in summer always dirty.
I am from the Deep South, coastal plains and high clouds; sky as big as the whole of existence; sun and heat, humidity and rain (sometimes at the same time).
I am from the oak, the broad shade of summer; large comforting limbs for imaginary castles: height in a world that lacked hills.
I am from potato soup and corn bread, from Linville’s and Sewell’s and Pearson’s.
I am from the men of shiny skulls and mother hens who ruled the roost.
From Indian Princesses and Sooners (they thought).
I am from Baptist traditions with new age tendencies. Looking to the Far East for a guiding set of principles I am pulled in different ways.
I’m from four generations of Texans coming from North Carolina via many routes, pinto beans and bacon and biscuits.
From the great-grandmother who died too young, the grandfather who didn’t mind the questions I chattered, and the father who was always gone.
I am from the pictures my mother keeps safe, the history I have tracked down in courthouse basements and now pass on to the cousins who care, the old bibles hiding in sock drawers that listed those who came before me who I never knew.