Early Storm--or, This Isn't So Bad

Earlier today, the fire department rode through my neighborhood, whooping the siren and announcing, over a loud speaker, that all homes west of Pine Street were subject to mandatory evacuation. Our house is west of Pine, two buildings from the beach.

We didn't leave. I don't know anybody who has. So far, the stormwater system in Cape Charles is draining well--at least in my neighborhood. The street outside my house floods in a summer thunderstorm. But today it rises in a mighty 3 inch hump above the gutters, where the rainwater runs downhill to the bay. Lots of rain, yes. Flooding, no. Pretty amazing.

Chad and I spent the day cleaning the house. We just had the downstairs painted (after a toilet flood ruined the dining room ceiling...oh, water damage, thy name is Sucky). It was a nuclear mess, every item covered with drywall dust. All the furniture and all of the art were jammed into the dining room, which was the first to be painted and the last to store generations (literally generations) of junk. Ugly family heirlooms, wonderful paintings, memorabilia stuffed together in a dusty heap.

I hung the newly washed curtains and wondered if I were rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Outside, endless rain. On the Internet, broadcasters begging their audience to take their dire warnings seriously.

Finally, I had to go outside. The wind picked up on the beach, blowing from the north. A mist of bouncing raindrops blew across the whitecaps. Clouds of white sand flew low across the darker, wet beach. There were no people on the waterfront and only a few cars on Bay Ave. Two young guys bolted down Mason with a bag of take-out from Kelley's; and only two people sat outside the pub smoking. About 30 cars clustered in abandoned Meatland parking lot, the town's high ground.

When I went to check on my friend Carole's outdoor furniture, somebody had already moved it to a safe corner. Thank you, somebody.

They say tomorrow will be worse. That's OK. Today wasn't so bad.