My baby girl and her girls and her husband, my sister, friends of family. Friends… people I have never met, but I speak with almost daily. All Floridians, from Miami to FloBama.
I just got a message from my sister. It was chilling. She’s in the south, close to Miami. Store shelves empty since Tuesday, no gas, roads jammed and stopped.
I hope I see my sister again. I hope I hear from her soon.
I love watching the governor, in his little baseball cap, telling people “evacuate” – exactly where and how?
This is certainly not his fault, I just think at this point screaming evacuate is futile and may be deadly. I just told my sister she’d be better off in her house than wide open on the highway, out of gas. I guess…
There is no place to go.
The cold reality that nature is bigger more powerful and perhaps angrier than anything we have at our disposal.
It’s easy to sit here in the north and tell people what they should do. Then someone texts a picture of the local Target store and it looks like a looting scene, and that was Tuesday, before panic set in.
There are still places in my beloved New Orleans that are boarded up twelve years after. Out in the districts. Plywood with numbers spray painted on them. I know what the numbers mean.
I really don’t want to see plywood spray painted with big orange numbers in Florida.
Thoughts and prayers, to me, in 2017, seems almost an insult. We think and pray about cancer. We think and pray when yet another dead addict is found. We think and pray about the daily mass shootings.
Doesn’t seem to do a whole lot of good…
Helpless and deeply concerned is the gut feeling of the day for me. Kind of staggering to realize that so many people close to me have moved south.
Be safe, my homies. Please let me know you are ok.