Down here in the Gulf Coast of Texas, the hurricane season is almost as important as the football season. Almost. Now that there is a big ol' cane in the Gulf, the front porch prognosticators are talking about where and when it might hit, as well as the storms of days gone by.
Growing up in California, I remember the earthquake drills we would have in school. (spoken with Sister Margaret's Irish lilt) "Students, when you hear the siren, please duck under your desks and cover your heads. As soon as the second siren sounds, please, quietly, proceed to the inner wall and line up in an orderly fashion and I will lead you outside." It always sounded so orderly and calm. Then when the Loma Prieta Quake hit on October 17, 1989, I realized there was no way to be orderly and calm in an earthquake. At least I had no idea it was going to happen that day.
Now living here on the Gulf Coast I get to watch days of forcast predictions. If I went to store right now, I would not find a single bottle of water. Gas prices are up 20 cents in the past 36 hours. Hotels are overbooked. Our house is on the edge of the "cone of uncertainty" and I'm ready to pack the Suburban and head North. My husband, who has lived here all his life and was here for Alicia in 1983, tells me it will be fine, nothing more than a bit of wind and rain will hit us, he says. I can see him on the front porch talking with all the others. (spoken in a soft Texas twang) "Why I remember in '08, when Gustav hit, my wife had our truck all packed and ready to go. She's a Yankee, ya see. From California. And then we barely got 5 inches."
Yeah, well at least this Yankee can handle an earthquake. Even if she's curled in a ball under her desk, like Sister Margaret told her to.
The story of a young lady raised in the San Francisco Bay Area who moved to Houston, got married, had 2 boys and moved to a small Southeast Texas town. Read all about it.