This blog was launched at the height of the disastrous 2005 hurricane season, shortly after Hurricane Katrina unleashed her little bit of Hell. And now it is resurrected as a new storm lurks in the Caribbean, just a couple wobbles from slamming into my old stomping grounds in Southeast Texas.
It's not ironic. It's hurricane season.
If soon-to-be Hurricane Dolly does hit Southeast Texas -- and right now it is tracking well south -- it will be the third hurricane to rake across that unlucky region in 3 years. The place is still recovering from Katrina's traumatic little sister, Hurricane Rita, in 2005; Humberto in 2007 was a relative weakling but still cut a destructive swath across the bayous and refinery yards.
Ah, but I live safely inland in San Antonio now, in a brick house no less. What the hell do I care? After Rita, I swore off the swashbuckle, promising I'd never waste another year of my life just to peer into the gaping maw of a killer storm.
Oddly, I do care. Hunkering down under two hurricanes makes me care. For my friends, for everyone else. I find myself hoping that every big storm dissipates before it makes landfall. That ain't gonna happen, but it's a wish as good as any other when a hurricane is bearing down. Even though we know a lot about their behavior, hurricanes remain unpredictable. Its path can shift as much as 100 miles in 24 hours -- left or right. As both Rita and Humberto taught us, anything can happen up to the moment it does.
Dammit, I wish I were as unpredictable. If Dolly veers toward Southeast Texas, I'm sure I'll go back. I'd rather be there with my friends telling the story than here in my safe brick home reading about it.