Irma Day Seven                   

Hurricane Blues. I’m sure people in other places, going about their daily lives, are weary of hurricane talk, just as the people here are weary of the reality of another day of stifling heat without power, or trudging through standing water, or fighting for scarce gas, ice, and groceries.

Those who have power are still surrounded by the debris of the hurricane sitting in piles in the front yard. There’s the background sound of chainsaws trimming off hanging branches and the Mini Excavators moving logs, and there’s the commiserating one does with friends and family who still aren’t hooked to the grid, and so are powerless in several ways.

If you don’t have power, you are subject to the heat-the relentless early September heat that quickly wilts a sweating working person. Activities that could be accomplished in a few hours take half a day, with water breaks and rest breaks that you must have or you will collapse.  It’s not laziness, it’s a matter of physics and biology-too much heat to dissipate builds up in the human body. A lot of work crews now smartly travel with campers, so work crews can cool off and get rest and drinks.

Those with damaged roofs or fallen fences or cracked car windows must contact their insurance companies and file with FEMA for a partial payment and line up contractors to start the work. In many cases they must wait for materials or for people because both of these are in short supplies. Stop-gap measures-tarps and plastic wrap-will have to suffice until the real thing is available.

Restaurants-the ones that are open-are full of people who don’t yet have power and are eating out to get a hot meal. The restaurants without power, or who now have it, but don’t have unspoiled food are watching business go to others. Grocery stores have empty shelves-especially in the refrigerated or frozen sections where people who recently regain their power are replacing spoiled food. The opportunities for profit are there-if you have power.

So, lots of people anxiously await the arrival of the bucket trucks. The flashing yellow lights and the yellow hardhats are welcomed gladly. The guys in the orange vest are the heroes who make a sane life possible here, make commerce possible, make normalcy possible. For the rest, it’s the Hurricane Blues.