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I was out of town last week, lucky me. We were scheduled to fly back on Sunday, then Monday. Those flights were canceled. We lost our Tuesday reservation when we switched to the Monday flight. When the Monday flight canceled at the last minute, the American Airlines person told me we had been booked automatically on the Wednesday morning flight. Wednesday at O'Hare, no one had ever heard of us.
There were seats, though.
That was the bad news, as it turns out.
I don't have to tell you what I mean.
It was an anxious time in Chicago, especially since I had spent the previous week on the phone with my insurance agent. It hadn't occurred to me until after Charley that we might want flood insurance. The insurance guy couldn't figure out what FEMA flood zone we're in, so he said we would need an elevation certificate. Flood insurance doesn't kick in for 30 days, anyway. We still don't have the elevation certificate.
But we were lucky. In Chicago people weren't talking about the hurricane all the time, so you didn't have to think about it all the time. In fact, since there was absolutely nothing you could do anyway, it was possible to go for hours without knowing the exact location of Frances and how fast she was moving and toward what. You could buy anything you wanted at the supermarket.
After it hit, and I found out our house was fine, no flood, no damage, power on, I just figured it was the same for everyone and put it out of my mind.
The first sign that wasn't the case was when we got home Wednesday afternoon and I saw a bowl of water on my kitchen floor. A leak, no surprise, but on the ground floor? It wasn't a leak, though; friends who were feeding our cats lost power Sunday night, so they stayed at our house. The water was for their dog.
Wednesday night my husband went out to get dinner at the Ravioli Company on Manhattan just a few blocks away. It was closed. No power. No pasta.
Thursday morning I went to Publix on Gandy, and they were out of chicken breasts with skin. The guy there told me the stores on Neptune and Bayshore had been out of meat entirely, so this store had to share the bounty.
At home as I was unloading my groceries my neighbor's daughter saw me and said, "You're buying groceries? We were without power for four days! I threw everything out! I'm not buying anything but water!" Then she paused. "And what are we going to do about Ivan?"
At lunch at Woody's, the first words I heard were, "I'm over it. It's like, don't turn my power back on. Don't even bother." Ivan was on his way. Evacuations in the Keys were already under way.
I told her I had been out of town. "I wish I had stayed," I said.
"No you don't," she said. "It was a disaster."
I meant I wished I had stayed in Chicago.
Thursday afternoon our mail carrier said, yes, the mail had been delivered on Saturday and Monday. (We always heard that "rain, snow, sleet or hail" thing, but "hurricane" was not included.). But he said the power was still off at the post office at Oakellar. There was just enough light to sort the mail. They couldn't even plug in a fan.
At the tailor, I asked the man handing me my husband's slacks if he had had any problems, and he said, "No, except the streets were disgusting. It seems to me the sewers should be fixed by now. I've lived here 18 years and it's always been this way."
Which reminded me that when I was looking at my homeowners policy after Charley I discovered we are not covered for stormwater or sewer backup. So I upped the coverage, but it won't go into effect until the new policy period starts. That's in October.
Friday morning at yoga everyone was in desperate need of blissing out.
After that, at the cleaners, I heard, "It's heading right at Tampa."
What are we going to do about Ivan?
I don't know about you, but I made reservations to fly to New York Sunday morning.
Sandra Thompson, a writer living in Tampa, can be reached at tampa@sptimes.com City Life appears on Saturday.