Jed Wolf

I live my life in a “cone of uncertainty,” so I should have known better than expect to find bottled water at Winn Dixie five days before Dorian’s landfall. Shopping in a haze of robotic certainty for the usual stuff, I caraiaged my watermelon around passing others’ carts stacked with cases of beer and akimbo bottles of wine. Only when I turned the corner to the wall of empty water shelves did I feel a pulse.

“We should take video of our yard…” Dave said as he helped me unload the watermelon, peaches, almond milk, cat litter and hand lotion. “That bitch is already a category three.”

I’ve had a recurring dream through my life of a bear chasing me. Just when I think I’m safe, I see or hear it on my trail. A similar phenomenon happened with both hurricanes Matthew and Irma. As soon as they appeared like darts on the radar, we became bullseyes, twice.

As Putting Greenland continues to drain and smug soothsayers, certain of impending doom wag their fingers, the weather channel’s Jim Cantone surrounds himself with fake swirling clouds on TV and Dave, in a eternal state of prayer adds to our “to do” list, I realize my only comfort is uncertainty.

I will continue to laugh at the growing, swirling bear as we stock up on gas for the generator and head inland if need be with the kitties. ”A tree could just as easily drop on a motel room or parking lot in Molasses Junction,” I chortle.

We just booked a cheap, kitty-friendly room at the Red Roof Inn by 95 with a cancellation policy. Lucky to get it as two other places were already full. “Tee Hee.”

Just went to get ethanol-free gas for our generator, but the sign read, OUT. “Tra La”