Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

As the outer bands of what remains of ex-Hurricane Laura begin to roll into the neighborhood of Port Swiller Manor, Ol’ Robbo finds himself bordering on outright smugness this evening in that he got himself out this morning and dealt with the lawn ahead of time.  As far as I’m concerned, it can rain all it wants now, and good luck to it!  (**Snaps fingers at the sky**)

The latest forecast has us receiving anything between two and four inches tonight and tomorrow.  I hope we get a few pyrotechnics to go along with that.

Ol’ Robbo still remembers Hurricane Isabel, which came through here in 2003, the closest thing to a direct hit I’ve experience in the time we’ve lived here.**  Specifically, the evening it struck I remember sitting in the same comfy chair in which I am right now, staring out the window. The wind was howling and the cloud-base seemed to be scudding by not much above tree-top level.  There was lots and lots of lightning.  When it stayed up in the clouds, it had a distinctly copper color, but when it broke through for a ground-strike, it was an unearthly electric blue.  The thunder had a weird quality about it, too, although I can’t recall now what was different.  I do not recall having ever seen another display quite like that one.

I’m not expecting anything of the kind this time around, of course.  But a few booms would be nice.


**I was at the People’s Glorious Soviet of Middletown, CT when Hurricane Gloria came storming up the valley in 1985.  We all duly taped up our dorm windows and camped out in the hall during the worst of it.  So far as I can recall, that was the only day I ever started drinking at seven o’clock in the morning.  A rumor went around campus that a math professor refused to cancel an exam he had scheduled for that day and that students had to slog to his classroom during the height of it.  Different times.

I also dimly remember the effects of Hurricane Celia when it hit the South Texas of my yoot in 1970.

The Family Championship, however, goes to my brother, who was in Charleston, S.C., when Hurricane Hugo hit it head-on in 1989.  I believe that was the only instance when I was genuinely frightened by such a storm.  Brother was in med school there at the time and the authorities drafted all the med students to help out in the hospital.  After the fact, he reported seeing a transformer blow up but otherwise never was too concerned.  That was a relief, but not much comfort at the time when we didn’t know what was going on.

UPDATE:  Another dud with nothing near the predicted rainfall.  Oh, well.  The good news is that it’s turned into a rather lovely afternoon with coolish temperatures, a nice breeze, and dropping humidity.  I believe that the Ace of Spades Northern Virginia Moron Meetup (the “NoVaMoMe” to insiders, is this evening and is set to take place outdoors.  They should have perfect weather.  (No, Ol’ Robbo is not going.  Every time they hold one I toy with the idea but I never get around to signing up.)