Forty Days and Forty Nights

Yesterday at Publix my favorite bagger took my groceries out to my car. He is a nice old man with a thick accent and a clef palate. He also works for the county at my polling site, so he's kind of an old friend even though we've never exchanged names. He said, "You know, only 40 days til..." then he swirled his finger in the air to indicate a hurricane. I groaned.

Here it is again! It isn't likely that we'll have a hurricane on June 1, but it's the beginning of watching the tropics, of following orange, rotating patches westward on the weather map, of holding your breath and hoping they will turn out to sea. Hurricanes are terrible things that are even hard to pray about - you know they will hit someone, even if they miss you.

It once was safe to talk about the weather - no chance of offending anyone, but Katrina changed that. Not only did politicians rush to blame each other, I even heard one public official blame Max Mayfield - the director of the national hurricane center. Mayfield, who probably loses more sleep than anyone that time of the year, appears extremely compassionate, begging people to prepare and take the storm seriously.

So here comes hurricane season with its watches and warnings, with it's recommended evacuations and window shutters, with it's insurance rate hikes and long gasoline lines, with it's squally bands and low barometric pressure. Here it comes and we had better be prepared.