Tempesta non Grata II

Lucky for me, Dennis seems bound for Mobile or Pensacola. Not sure why, since the food and night life are much better here. Hopefully, this won't be a repeat of Frederick, which I slept through in Laurel, Mississippi, waking to find enormous, aged oaks uprooted in the pasture, and which kept Mobile without power for two weeks or so. Plenty of people I know will have to weather this thing, and I hope most will be sensible enough to head north, but I'm glad Dennis isn't coming here. Sorry, but that ole survival instinct kicks in when hurricanes head toward your town for a little of the old ultraviolence. My dad, fortunately, is headed for a hotel in Brookhaven, Mississippi. I have no idea what my other umpteen relatives are doing, but they're not stupid and they well remember what Camille did to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. One of my relatives died in that storm—a rarity—and her house was obliterated. But that's lost to memory, unlike the shrimp trawler near Biloxi that the storm placed hundreds of feet inland and that's now (I think) a restaurant.

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