Katrina, admittedly, caught me off guard. I wasn't planning on leaving. My motivation came at 3 a.m. on Sunday, August 30, when, through the haze of my sleep, I heard someone on the TV say that she had reached Category 5 strength. Between calling friends and family, retrieving an out-of-town friends' pets, making a quick video of my own house, and packing, I was on the road in two hours. Suffice it to say, I didn't bring enough stuff.
This time, I'm better prepared. Important docs were in a file box, ready to go. I'm taking my laptop, backup, fax machine, and printer/scanner, so I can work from anywhere. I've got a vacation suitcase (small), and a hope-I-don't-have-to-use-it suitcase with nice clothes (large). The dogs and their accoutrements - beds, medicines, bowls, and food - are stacked and ready. I've even relocated the new television in the hopes that looters won't find it.
And yet, through this calm, my stomach is more and more knotted. It's not the near-hysteria that accompanied last time; it's slower, and building. After my last walk-through, to make sure I'm not leaving anything, I think the enormity of leaving - again - will hit me.
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