The emotional rollercoaster sits ready at the gate to once again raise us to new heights, only to plunge us to deeper depths. The familiar butterflies fluttering in my stomach signal the anticipation of the unknown. I do believe they have taken up permanent residence. At least they have a permanent residence – unlike so many of my neighbors along the Gulf coast.

The déjà vu is not a mystery, nor an unexplainable phenomenon. Twelve years ago, Mark and I moved to Pensacola Beach. Dreams of retiring on the beach and raising our children in its small community created the eager anticipation I felt then. Nine storms later, the anticipation I feel is far from eager, it is dread.



I am becoming familiar with the emotional cycles of being a repeat hurricane survivor. Too familiar. The stages for me go something like this:

Storm season approaches and I hold my breath, praying that the storm god will exact his vengeance elsewhere. Or even better yet, that he has no vengeance in him this summer.

A storm is in the Gulf and its path is unknown. My quick glances at the perpetually playing Weather Channel silently beg for a prediction cone that completely ignores the Alabama/Florida coastline.

The insensitive prediction cone ignores my pleading and includes Pensacola Beach. The strength expected upon landfall is unknown, so we prepare for the worst. Actually, we (coastline residents) always have to prepare for the worst. There are so many unknowns; being prepared is not only for the Boy Scouts. If we prepared for a minimal storm and it gained in strength and speed, the meager preparations would be pointless. If we prepare for an intense storm and it exhausts itself before landfall, we gratefully count our blessings as we remove our shutters and take the generators back to storage.
With the intensity of the last two years' storms, a community panic sets in, creating
the need to prepare for the preparations. Ten years ago, I did not need to buy
barrels and barrels of gasoline or gallons and gallons of water as soon as a tropical depression was detected in the Gulf. Food, water, and gasoline literally disappear before my eyes. Who knew David Copperfield, master magician, was performing at the local Wal-Mart?

I wake up one morning and the Weather Channel has definitive projections on the size, strength, and predicted place of landfall. I rub the sleep from my eyes, thankful for my last night of real rest until this nightmare ends. I call my favorite weather man, Jim Cantore, ask him to pinch me and tell me it's not real, to go back to sleep, that I'm just having a bad dream. Adrenaline replaces my grogginess with alertness as Jim says to get prepared. By now, preparations are rote. I always want to be completely "ready" at least 24 hours in advance…just in case it doesn't follow the Weather Channel's parameters and decides to speed up.
"Completely ready." What a concept. I never really thought about it until I typed that sentence. How can a person be "ready" to have his/her life completely turned upside down for the next few years? Can a person pre-prepare to be psychologically thrown into such turmoil? Although the storm lasts days, the devastation is interminable. After Hurricane Katrina in 2005, I heard a psychologist on the news explain that
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder doesn't really hit a person until eighteen months after the event. Eighteen months? Well, hell, then I have PTSD on top of PTSD, on top of more PTSD. I don't think we have gone more than 18 months without a storm affecting us on some level.
Even if the storm doesn't make a direct hit on your home, your body is pumped
full of adrenaline each and every time a storm is named in the Gulf of Mexico.
As I carry the lawn furniture upstairs, help Mark tape the windows, decide how far we will travel, and load up the cars, my consciousness recedes with the rote behavior. The action actually is comforting, better than the inactivity of waiting. The procedures are so mechanical by now, I feel detached from their implications. Detachment. It can be your friend or your enemy, but necessary for me if I am to survive the perpetual storm cycles.

The calm before the storm. I never understood that saying until I moved to Pensacola Beach. The gathering forces of the hurricane suck the humidity off of the beach, leaving a beautiful, clear day and an exquisitely star filled night. As the storm draws nearer, bands of clouds approach, swirling against the still blue sky. Within several hours, I know the gentle breeze will begin gusting; the gently lapping waves will morph into lashing walls of water eroding the protective strip of sand that separates my house from the ocean; and the sky will darken with threatening storm clouds. When the beach is in its beautiful "calm before the storm" stage, I can barely get my brain around the fact that just miles from the beach a monster swirls in a ravenous rage, ready to once again devour my life as I know it. Before I evacuate, I sit on the beach, gazing around, drinking in the beauty; knowing full well that this could be the last time the beach looks this way. I ride my bicycle around the island, waving to neighbors, stopping to discuss evacuation plans with friends, sharing hugs and wishes that all will be well when we return. Despair and hope linger in the atmosphere. Many of us have done this many times. Veterans. You'd think we would know better by now and just bail. All I can say is that it is not as easy as it seems.

Evacuating the beach evokes a myriad of emotions. Being forced from my home sends my emotions through their own tumultuous storm. Not that I want to stay, I don't. But, the powerlessness I feel in regards to the impending storm is magnified by the mechanical voice of the local officials announcing the mandatory evacuation through their bullhorns. Poignant memories assail me. Love and laughter with friends and family; the blood, sweat, and tears of remodeling and rebuilding repetitively; breathtaking sunsets; bicycle rides with friends; solitary walks on a foggy beach; a pregnant full moon rising from the ocean's depths, the light shimmering brilliantly as the waves bring the reflection ashore. Wonderful memories I cherish. Encroaching on the Kodak moments are the gut-wrenching memories of returning after a storm to find our home wounded and wet, inside and out. I am nauseous as I mentally review the trauma of displacement; of my neighbors and friends being scattered across the region; of living like a refugee for months on end; of fighting the frustrating battle with the insurance companies; of not being able to locate reputable labor to begin repairs; of knowing that even if we manage to make the repairs, we could be doing it all again next year.



The storm strikes. I am watching the news coverage constantly --- to the uninitiated, that means I have evacuated far enough away to not be affected by power outages. My veteran status has taught me that much. I see no need to brutalize myself by living through the storm and the immediate aftermath. If I have repairs to make, I need to be as refreshed as possible, not suffering from heat exhaustion. When the storm strikes the beach, the residents cannot immediately return to their properties. We must wait for the officials to open the bridges and arrange for transportation to the neighborhoods. Frustration is inevitable, but rather than frantically pace in a hot, humid self-imposed prison, I choose to enhance my emotional well-being by resting in an air-conditioned place complete with amenities. Instead of aimlessly pacing, I surf the internet eager for the first trickling of pictures and reports. The Pensacola News Journal does the community a wonderful service by allowing anyone to post digital pictures of the area on their web site. I also have angels on line who converse with me on our web site's forum. www.domeofahome.com I cannot express how much their supportive comments boost my morale.

The storm has dissipated and now we assess the damage. In horror, we try to absorb the mangled messes we see. We need to report back to our friends about the status of their homes. After an interminable excursion of two miles to our home, we give our home a cursory once over from outside. Doors, windows, any breaches in the structure? Landscaping and the pool are expected casualties once again. No surprises there. It's time to find a way into the home. Did the ladder we left for re-entry get swept away? That's a yes. Okay, let's find an orphaned ladder somewhere in this debris and get into the house. The humid heat is sweltering, and the sun's intense light focuses onto our unwelcoming backs. Let's get into the house and drink some of that water I collected during the preparation stage. We manage to get into the house, turn up our noses at the mildew smell permeating every nook and cranny, and douse ourselves inside and out with water. We look around, make a general list of immediate concerns, and tell ourselves it could be much worse. It is definitely lemonade time. We count our blessings and fret over how much worse it could have been. We have to take the lemons and make lemonade. We have to – it is vital for our emotional survival. Somehow the situation seems less daunting when we compare them to what could've been.
After resting a bit at the house, we walk the neighborhoods with pen in hand. Some neighbors have traveled hundreds of miles and won't be back for a while. We need to report to them; the unknown is the worst. You can't make a game plan until you know what needs to be done. And having a game plan is also an essential element of emotional survival. What I find interesting and disturbing is that I can pass by a damaged home for months and not really see it. Then, one day, I am walking by and I actually see the ruined building. I am shocked that I hadn't noticed before. My theory is that I can only absorb so much devastation at one time. As I digest my first helping, more information can be assimilated.

Weeks later, the power is on and repairs can begin in earnest. Well, if we had our insurance claim payment and could find laborers, we could begin. Frustration overwhelms us as we want, no need, to start the repair process, yet cannot. At this point, I am usually ready to bail out. I have had enough, I am ready to sell and could care less if I never see a beach again in my life. I am in the middle of a nervous breakdown and am ready to hide from it all. I want to run away and never return. I want it to be a chapter in a book that I incinerate. I cannot keep doing this, it is absolutely insane. What the bleep do we think we are doing? I am so traumatized that I am numb….almost. Not quite detached enough to be unaware of my fragile state of mind.

Finally the repairs begin. The house begins to show its beauty once again. The repairs become improvements, and I become attached once again to my home. The better it looks, the better I feel. When normalcy reappears, so does my desire to stay. I fall in love with the beach again and beg the water to let me visit her instead of her coming to my home. And in the deep recesses of my soul, there is a seed of hope. A fragile flower lifting her face to the sun, my hope blossoms into a desire to remain a resident on Pensacola Beach. I fertilize my hope by counting my blessings and verbalizing why I am grateful to live on the beach. Before long, I am determined to stay.

Which brings me to the stage I currently find myself in: a mix of emotions so varied I worry that I am in the worst stages of a multi-personality disorder. I am writing this in January 2006, sixteen months after Hurricane Ivan and less than a year since Hurricanes Dennis and Katrina. I have the delusional hope that we may escape catastrophic damage this year, yet the sense of dread has taken up residence in my gut once again. I love the improvements to the house, and I do not want to move away from my community and friends. But, acknowledging that we could be making the same repairs a year from now is distressing. So, it's a hope against hope kind of day. My fellow islanders reassure me that we couldn't have another year like the last two. Says who? Their denial mirrors my own. Their seed of hope combines with mine to create a fragrant bouquet of the lemons we will be making into lemonade.

I write this as the 2006 Hurricane season is winding down. So far, none of the monster storms predicted for this year has manifested. Relieved? Beyond belief! After a huge sigh of relief, I realize I have been holding my breath in fearful anticipation for the last several months. You know what I mean. All of a sudden, you inhale a huge gulp of air, suddenly realizing you had been starving yourself of oxygen for the last several moments. Being able to relax this summer has been rejuvenating, refreshing, and enabled me to recharge my batteries.

Living in a state of adrenaline is deadly. It is supposed to be a mechanism for survival with an immediate fight or flight response. But, there is nothing immediate about a hurricane. First, it is the watch and wait as the cone of prediction includes your place of residence. Then, there are years of rebuilding, fighting with the insurance companies, and waiting for the next storms to threaten.
What happens when we live in extended states of fearful flight or fight mode?
We age prematurely and become sick.
Adrenaline doesn't allow the other systems to function properly: digestion, immune response, reproduction, sleep processes and mental acuity all suffer when we stay in the fight or flight mode.

How do we combat months and months of stress with no end in sight?
Find a method that will get you back in the parasympathetic state of being. The ways are as varied as the situations people find themselves in. Whether it is meditation, prayer, weight training, walking, support groups, hobbies, friends, movies or books, find a way to remember to BREATHE!
My daughter calls me sometimes when she is stressed out and invariably the conversation commences with her saying, "I know, Mom, I need to breathe."
I know all of this, and yet, I find that for the last several months I have been holding my breath.

I didn't grasp the full weight of the worry until I finally let myself believe that the season really is going to be a quiet one. We actually went a year without storm preparation or repairs?!?!? When all of the dire forecasts were being broadcast for the 2006 season, Mark said we wouldn't be hit this year and not to worry. In the past 12 years, he hasn't ever been wrong. He called Erin and Opal in 1995; Georges in 1998; Ivan in 2006; Dennis in 2005; and none for this year. From now on, I am only going to become worried when Mark gets worried. I'll let him be my own personal Weather Man. What can I do with all the energy I spent on worrying?

And time! All the "extra" time we have had to take care of things unrelated to hurricane repairs has been very productive. Who knew? It's been so long since we have had a summer to do something besides build or rebuild our home. I am working on revamping the web site with a virtual tour and flash technology. Mark has been able to work on some projects the cabin desperately needed.
And we have had time to breathe a bit.

Today, I am grateful for the snow falling outside my window as I write this. I can be here to experience the mountainous beauty found in winter because I am not in Florida making hurricane repairs.

We appreciate SARE for bringing attention to National Geographic's program HURRICANE SUMMER. Below is an excerpt from their web site.

http://lists.ifas.ufl.edu/cgi-bin/wa.ex ... mp;P=19121

SARE Provides Grants and Information to Improve Profitability, Stewardship and Quality of Life

Explore the Awesome Power of Mother Nature in National Geographic Channel's World

WASHINGTON, Sept. 29 /PRNewswire/ -- CHARLEY. FRANCES. IVAN. JEANNE. In the span of six weeks, four powerful hurricanes devastated the Caribbean and Florida, leaving behind thousands dead; billions of dollars in damages; and a relief effort that even eclipsed the one following the 2001 terrorist attacks. Not since 1886 have four major storms battered one state in such a short time span. But what factors contributed to this summer's unprecedented barrage of storms? And what's it like to come face to face with this relentless destructive power -- and live to tell about it?

On Tuesday, October 5 at 9 p.m. ET/PT, experience firsthand the fury of these violent storms as National Geographic Channel's "Hurricane Summer" takes viewers from the eye of these monsters to the personal stories on the ground. Meet a scientist who searches for clues by flying into these storms. Relive accounts of unimaginable loss and dramatic survival from Florida residents. And learn why a one-degree rise in water temperatures may have helped set in motion the forces that led to this historic season of destruction.

When hurricanes threaten, most people head for safety. But for NOAA hurricane expert Chris Landsea, the study of these deadly storms is his life. His goal is to measure firsthand each storm's destructive power in the hope that his work will help predict the path of its devastation. Landsea flew into all four storms that struck Florida, adding to his understanding of this hurricane summer and his terrifying prediction that this new active hurricane cycle could last another 40 years. In fact, as Landsea explains, scientists have confirmed that the Atlantic Ocean has warmed one degree, which many hypothesize is enough to create a catastrophic hurricane cycle.

The special also features a couple determined to beat Mother Nature. The Sigler family built their dream home in Pensacola Beach, FL, only to see it destroyed by previous hurricanes. Instead of abandoning their dream, this determined couple set out to build a hurricane proof house. After intense research and detailed design by a group of highly trained architects and engineers, the Sigler's built a massive, round "Dome Home," capable of withstanding winds of more than 300 mph. As Ivan approached, Mr. Sigler got permission to stay behind, and weather the storm. Taking an almost direct hit, Sigler tells of his experience, and how the "Dome Home" handled her first major test.

As the Atlantic Ocean calms for the time being, Floridians breathe a sigh of relief. But if weather experts are to be believed, this is just the beginning.

Based at National Geographic Society headquarters in Washington, D.C., the National Geographic Channel is a joint venture between National Geographic Television & Film (NGT&F) and Fox Cable Networks. National Geographic Channel debuted to an initial 10 million homes in January 2001, and has been one of the fastest growing networks in history. The Channel has carriage with all of the nation's major cable and satellite television providers, making it currently available to more than 52 million homes. For more information, please visit http://www.nationalgeographic.com/channel.

When Hurricane Katrina ravished the Gulf coast last week, I was in Montana. I could only watch with helpless horror as the coast braced itself for yet another strike. I kept hoping it was a nightmare that would dissipate upon awakening. Since we do not have a TV here, each morning I impatiently wait for my computer to boot up and deliver the most current updates via the internet. I never thought I could pray for a Category 3 hurricane, but when faced with Katrina's 175 mph winds, I prayed for an Ivan event. A year ago I would have denied the possibility of hoping for another Ivan. Obviously, I had forgotten about perspective. It's all about perspective. Ivan was truly Ivan, the Terrible. But, a Category 5 storm with 175 mile per hour winds churning on my doorstep gave me a different perspective.

As the hours progressed, disbelief became terror as the water continued to rise. Thousands are homeless; hurricane shelters are compromised; the situation is more dire than I dared imagine. My laptop screen failed to convey the magnitude of Katrina's wrath. Just last September I was in Montana watching footage of Hurricane Ivan's destruction on TV. When I actually flew into the area and saw the widespread damage, I was completely unprepared. Unless a person happens to be in the image of debris shown on TV, the picture fails to convey enormity of the piles. And the smell! The smell absolutely overwhelms the senses --- but cannot be shared with a TV audience.



When I finally did have the opportunity to watch the news coverage on TV, I felt the same residue of despair in my heart as I did when 9/11 happened. It’s a deep knowing that life will never be the same again, for any of us. I am aware that for many, time becomes relevant only in BK and AK. Katrina will divide their lives into Before Katrina and After Katrina. Ivan's reign as the event that defined my time was short-lived. Less than a year actually, who would have thought?

It's a week since Katrina irrevocably altered time. The incomprehensible situation continues to compound. From the lack of food and water; levees breaking; anarchy terrorizing the victims even further; deteriorating sanitation conditions; putrid stagnating water; deceased victims absent of burials; to the slow response time of federal aid, the situation becomes ever graver. Survivors of the actual hurricane must now survive the aftermath. Medication is running out for many of the refugees; there are reports of people still trapped in their attics; the unbearable heat facilitating the potential for diseases and deteriorating health conditions; and the heart-rending decisions to separate families to expedite evacuation.

The scenes are reminiscent of a disaster movie. It's likely if we saw all of this occurring in a movie, we would say, "It was over the top, too much, it could never be that bad." And like the survivors in the movies, small groups of people banded together to increase their odds for survival in a world gone mad. Some groups decided to strike out on their own to see if they could fare better being active instead of waiting on an organized effort by the government.

While the logistics of organizing a relief effort seem insurmountable, Hurricane Katrina was not a surprise. The government knew a storm was heading to the Gulf coast. Not just any storm, but a Category 5 monster bent on stalking its prey. True, no one knew exactly where she was going to strike, but there was a general location identified by hurricane watches and warning. And it was painfully obvious the communities affected would need help. And quickly.

Forces should have been mobilized and readied well before landfall. They could have been organized to respond wherever they were needed immediately after the storm subsided. It is not a surprise that water, food, emergency personnel, and military support were required after Katrina ripped through the coast. If, by some miracle, the disaster wasn't as extensive as anticipated, then gratefully, the readied troops could return to their previous duties. Obviously, people and supplies should have been ready to move ASAP to the affected areas.

A prominent politician recently stated, ""If we can't respond faster than this to an event we saw coming across the Gulf for days, then why do we think we're prepared to respond to a nuclear or biological attack?"

I guess that is what frightens me most – that the American public has been lulled into trusting that our government has its act together. A complacency exists because we assume that the government is organized and has a plan for catastrophic events. When the directors of FEMA and Homeland Security state they didn't foresee the problems and they were unaware of the situation in New Orleans (although the news networks spoke of little else), we, as the American public, should be concerned about their abilities to lead and protect us in a time of crisis. Thankfully, many men and women are helping where they see a need, instead of waiting for orders that may never come.

I salute the troops, emergency personnel, reporters, and volunteers who are, quite literally, in the trenches helping in innumerable ways. I am especially grateful that people have a means to have their voices heard and their stories told. MSNBC interviewed a therapist that said survivors need to be able to tell their stories over and over again to help their healing process.

Hours upon hours I spend at my computer mesmerized by the human stories that are emerging from the rubble. The spirit of the human species encourages me. Yes, there are stories of anarchy and gunfire. But, there are stories of neighbors and strangers sacrificing themselves to save another. A pregnant mother swims across dangerous waters to find help for her asthmatic son – Her healthy child was born after her daring swim. A six year old boy takes his five siblings and cousins by the hand and leads them to an evacuation bus after being separated from his parents during a helicopter rescue. He is six and very successfully takes responsibility for a five month old; a three year old; and three two-year olds. As the survivors emerge from the wreckage, stories of the heart and of triumph are being heard. Heroes do what they can when they can. Without a doubt, many will be unsung heroes with their stories unheard by the masses. Even so, their open hearts and courage changed the world.

Months after Katrina struck, we were still having survivors come to visit the Dome of a Home to see how it withstood Hurricane Ivan's assault. Most of them were shocked at how devastated our beach was a year after Ivan. You could see the light go off and then the despair creep across their faces as they realized that even a year later, their lives would not be "put back together." The realization dawning that it will take years to get back to normal (whatever that is) caused many to burst into tears. Empathy for their heartbreak coupled with my own exhaustion resulted in a river of tears being shed by all of us.
How do you survive? One second at a time. Eventually, you can survive a day at a time. Step by step you rebuild your life, hoping that Mother Nature will give you a reprieve for a while.

Please forgive my whining on the previous post, "Are You Kidding, Katrina?". I just find myself overwhelmed at the prospect of being slammed by yet another storm. In less than a year, we have been visited by Hurricane Ivan, Tropical Storm Arlene, Hurricane Dennis, and now Katrina.



Once again, I am in Montana while a monster storm looms in the Gulf. Last year, it was Hurricane Ivan that threatened and thrashed the Pensacola area. Now, Katrina sets her sights on the Gulf coast. I feel so deeply for those in the path of Katrina. Having faced evacuations so often in the last year, I can fully empathize with them. My concern is especially for the people of New Orleans. As well as being below sea level, they do not have the experience taught to us by Hurricane Ivan. It has been 40 years since a large storm has struck them. That's wonderful on the one hand, but on the other – if it has been a generation since a hurricane affected your family, the severe conditions can be underestimated.

Evacuation and hurricane preparation are far different now for the residents in my area than when I moved here 11 years ago. Gone is the complacency or illusion that it can't really be all that bad. For days before the storm makes landfall, gasoline is difficult to find and water is a premium commodity. Before Ivan, people prepared, but it was a more relaxed atmosphere. Now, it feels like everyone assumes that any hurricane will be another Ivan. I know I do. Much more trepidation is attached to the tropical storm season for me now than before last year's Hurricane Ivan.

The post traumatic stress was evident on the faces of Ivan's survivors as we prepared for Hurricane Dennis last month. Overwhelming despair and resignation resonated from the people I passed. Blank stares or streaming tears met my somber gaze.

If Katrina strikes as the monster she presents herself to be, the emotional trauma and scars will be evident long after the waters have receded. When people finally understand they may not have a home any longer and all of their memories have been washed away, the initial gratefulness for just surviving plummets into a deep grief. Grief for the friends you will know longer see on a daily basis; grief for the inability to have your support system near you in your greatest time of need; grief for the loss of your job; grief for the loss of mementos and pictures that have personal intrinsic value; grief for the life that will never be again because you are irrevocably changed.

And the thought that there are people without transportation to leave the city has me mortified. I am in a deep state of sorrow for the upcoming victims of this storm. It should be a human right to have a way to escape an oncoming storm that gives us several days notice.
Even this afternoon on Pensacola Beach, water was rising significantly. After Ivan, there was a set of construction posts that hadn't been seen in decades uncovered. Hurricane Dennis covered them up last month. Early this afternoon, they were uncovered half way again. So, we are definitely expected some storm waters to flow over the island --- yet again.

I am tired, stressed, and worried for my neighbors and friends. I know the Dome will fare as well as any structure out there, but I am sad to see my neighborhood become a debris pile yet again.


We are all now aware of the nightmare that was endured by those on the coast because of Katrina's unbridled fury. It's been a year and I can't help but wonder if anything would be any different if another storm of Katrina's mass were threatening the Gulf coast again. Would less people be trapped, would evacuations be more organized, would there be a plan to evacuate hospitals and nursing homes? We can only hope that lessons were learned and alterations were made at the government levels. Will there be facilities that will accept all members of the families evacuating (pets)?

I have read several stories about people who had to leave their pets, been fortunate enough to find them again, but cannot convince the adopting family to return the pet. I understand that the adopting family loves this animal they have adopted and obviously have big hearts to take in abandoned animals. BUT, to keep an animal from a family who has lost everything seems …. Well, let's just suffice to say: "Have some compassion, people!!!" The victims of the storm lost their lifestyle, their jobs, their homes. their sense of security, etc. To have a member of their family back would help restore some of what was lost.

CNN MEDIA COVERAGE: ANDERSON COOPER
08/26/2005 6:22 pm Central Time

Now for the Good News!!!

CNN called yesterday to inquire about using the Dome of a Home in this evening's broadcast of Anderson Cooper's program. The producer wanted a different slant to the usual hurricane rhetoric. Fortunately, the Dome of a Home offers an interesting perspective of building structures intended to alleviate as much storm damage as possible. We are encouraged that CNN is offering educational solutions to an obvious dilemma