So, everything's going great: new carpet, new faculty position for Jen at work, awsome job
for Dylan as the video-editor at a photo studio. But, you know, something was missing from our lives...

Hurricane IVAN!

Yes, the Russian moved in and there went the neighborhood on September 16 at about 10pm. The girls hunkered down
in the hall way, the strongest part of the house. I and the neighbors across the street (Rebecca, Haley's
mom, and Stacy) had boarded up the houses as best we could, especially the south faces, so I was able to
sleep in Malaren's room (you can see my flashlight and pillow by Jen's head) without too much concern.
At 2 am, we got a wake up: The Syberian Express rolled into town, like a locamotive roaring
over the house. Things were horizontal. We fell back asleep by 3 am and had a great night sleep.

Jen: Nope, I did not sleep again. My ears kept popping from the changes in air pressure and
when Ivan wasn't roaring, Dylan was snoring. I felt as if I was in a boat riding out the perfect storm.

The next morning, we expected Biblical scenes. But here was our front lawn: 1 branch.

Not bad. However, our pool took some water.

Back lawn: 1 limb.

Of course, Little Sweeps was out there first thing, getting things back in order.

The only damage was Dusty's cover-top, which flipped off and scratched the trunk of the Neon,
but landed safely. (Dusty is the pick-up truck's name, christened by Annie, the former owner.)

Things were, well, cheerful along the street. People were out, counting blessings, and
by and large, there wasn't a lot of damage. Jen and Mal strolled the neighborhood and
recorded some other flotsome & jetsam. 

This next one is our next-door neighbor. No one lives there, but the owners (who inherited it)
had already decided to remodel for renting. Ivan helped them.

Jen: While we got out of Ivan and town easy, many are having a rough time still. The
last couple of weeks it seems post-traumatic stress disorder has set in for real in our community.
I have had students cry in class almost on a daily basis. Pensacola is depressing and the relief of
having lived through the storm has turned into dispair and sometimes rage against poor luck and service.
I have students who lost their homes and all their belongings. They live in tents or trailers
and their children have been moved to new schools according to new schedules. The only reason
they fight it out in class is because going to school is the only routine left in their lives.

As we drove back from up north, I watched the fallen trees, the busted buildings and the contorted street signs all
the way from Tennessee to down home. Passing through Molino I read a sign that said,
"God bless the relief workers." Having witnessed the destruction and devestation Ivan caused
so many people, and knowing what that sign truly means for people in the South, I could not agree more.
That was the single most religious moment of my life.