Hurricane Wilma

NOTE: WITH LOSS OF POWER FOR MORE THAN TWO WEEKS AND NO PHONE LINE OR COMPUTER ACCESS, BLOGS WRITTEN THROUGH THE PITTSBURGH MOVE WERE BY HAND AND WILL BE ENTERED AS TIME ALLOWS. PLEASE STAY TUNED!

It's been only two days. This hurricane has been a lesson in patience.

I know now that I prefer the hum of an AC window unit to the droning growl of a generator.

Much of this storm resembled the last: People helping people. The buzz of chain saws filled the air along with the smell of freshly cut wood. Debris everywhere. Anything and everything the wind could shake loose. Dangling, darkened traffic signals and the deep blackness when dusk disappears.

Oh, the stars. It's like camping in many ways. Improvised cooking, creative cleaning, even toilet habits become, well, profound. But the stars -- they are the best part of camping. And now with no city lights, they pop from the sky like firecrackers.

I drove home from work with Orion over my left shoulder most of the way. I got to my house and flashlighted my way to let the dogs out. It was scary to be in so much darkness, and I thought perhaps it might be dangerous, but probably it wasn't. It's one thing for a criminal to go sneaking in the shadows of darkness. It would be a whole other feat if one could fumble through the complete blackness without hitting his toe and crying out in pain.

As I headed back to stay with Bob -- the winds sheared off my roof and shot a hole through my bedroom ceiling -- I saw FPL trucks begin to light up the end of the street. They say power will return in two to four weeks, but somehow I knew I'd get lucky. I had a bottle of wine tucked under my arm and thought about rushing over to offer it to them, but I realized it was too small of a gesture. I wish I could offer them sleep and to be home with their families. At least I am getting that, in a way.

As I approached downtown, I saw most of the buildings were dimly illuminated. Even the Templeton building, with its west facade torn off and gaping holes where glass used to be, had lights on, and I could see the ceilings stripped bare. What horrified me two days ago now made me smile -- everything will be fixed. There was even a single traffic light glowing, and part of the entertainment district was lit so brightly that it looked like any other slow Wednesday night.

The storm itself was powerful, but at least it was quick. In hurricanes, there are noises that one can just never imagine. One from Wilma sounded eerily like a wounded dog, perhaps one dying a slow agonizing death. I had to keep checking on my own dogs to be sure they were OK. When the winds died down and I finally poked my head outside, I discovered that noise was a dangling ficus limb scraping against my metal back door. Another chunk of the same ficus decorated my front door, on the other side of the house.

To say seeing my roof draping from the side of the house was disturbing is a clear understatement. I completely broke down. Upon inspecting the inside of my house, I found part of my bedroom ceiling had collapsed. I broke down yet again, and Zoe has told this to complete strangers: "Mommy cried when she saw the ceiling on the floor." But at the time she was comforting: "Don't cry Mommy. I'm still here."

Indeed I am lucky to have chosen to stay in the living room that night. After my landlord climbed up on the "roof," he said the only part remaining on my three-apartment building was over my living room and kitchen.

Sometimes I wonder which of the horrible noises I heard was the ceiling coming down, or the roof peeling off, or the ficus tearing from its base. It keeps me up at night wondering, and I'm still waiting for a good night's sleep.

All of this will likely affect my moving plans. The moving company was supposed to show up Monday, the day of the storm, for an estimate. I have no light by which to pack with the hurricane shutters still on. I'm lucky Bob got his water back so quickly, and even luckier that he has a gas water heater and stove.

I'm sitting on his front porch now writing by candlelight and flashlight; I can't see my hand in front of me without them. But I can see a familiar glow due south. It's the kind of glow that can mean only one thing: Civilization is coming back, the lights will go on, and the stars will dim again.

Neighbors will go inside, ACs and TVs will go on again, and cars will go speeding by instead of slowing for a hello.