Forecasters with the National Hurricane Center say that Isabel’s speed has increased as she comes to us, now moving at 12 knots, and will continue at this pace as she comes ashore. She will arrive in North Carolina with sustained maximum winds of 105 miles an hour. Because of Isabel’s motion, the worst of the storm is expected to be felt northeast of its eye, placing the Outer Banks and mainland areas bordering Albemarle and Pamlico Sounds in greatest danger. By last night, more than 150,000 people along the coast had evacuated inland. The process was described as calm and orderly.

Isabel is predicted to bring a storm surge of ten feet, all the waves on top of that. Most of the Outer Banks of North Carolina are less than that in elevation, so things will be interesting there. All those new houses at places like Duck could have roaring water through the first floor. I am thinking of the memorial at Kitty Hawk this morning going underwater. It is close to the hundredth anniversary of the First Flight. Rainfall is expected to reach 10 inches or more. This is all supposed to happen by late morning or early afternoon today.

The Federal Government has decided to suspend operations today. The banner on the Office of Personnel Management home page reads: “Federal agencies in the Washington, DC, area are CLOSED on Thursday September 18, 2003.

This Means

The powers that be want everyone to be somewhere by lunchtime, and MetroBus and MetroRail will both quit working at eleven. I’m not an emergency or essential worker, not anymore, and for the first time in a long time I am also not in the Federal Government. So I will report to my quiet little office this morning and do whatever they tell me to do.

It is weird. I looked at the satellite picture on the Weather Channel and checked the hourly forecast. It is humid, around 84%, and still. The trees danced late yesterday, but now the leaves hang in heavy air. Resting perhaps. The upper tendrils of Isabel’s hands are already past us and over Pennsylvania. The hour-by-hour forecast tells me that we can expect the rains to begin by ten o’clock this morning. Public Radio tells me two o’clock is the magic hour. So I suppose the question of lunch will loom large.

But at the moment it is calm, if pregnant outside. I can’t tell if it is the drop of the barometric pressure that has the hairs standing up on the back of my neck, or if it is the surfeit of information about what is going to happen to us. I feel as saturated by information as the Outer Banks. And nothing will happen until ten. It will definitely affect lunch.

The weather otherwise has been marvelous. The Business Manger for our Division came in late, after five, and I was starting to think about effecting my escape. From my window I could see the shadows lengthening on the golden afternoon. They continued to lengthen as the retired Colonel regaled me with a story of the end of his days in the White House Office of Science and Technology. My feet began to twitch. The storm was coming and I had things to do. I wanted to get out of the office and get on with the last preparations. I listened patiently, and when it appeared that we had fully explored the implications of his machinations against a former Secretary of the Air Force, I logged off my computer and made a neat pile of the scratch paper I had doodled full through the course of the day as the story wound down.

My body language was polite but signified my desire to departure. He apologized for keeping me late, though that seemed to have been the point. He has been appointed my mentor to the ways of the company and I expect that this was part of it. I have only one employee, one we had to have on the payroll at a reduced rate in order to bid a contract. The bid was supposed to be presented tomorrow, but with the Government cancellation there is no one home to postpone the meeting. I suppose I am the mentor for him, and had sent him away at four.

As I cleared the garage I wondered if it would flood. There are two levels below the street, connected to the air by a steep ramp. Something to think about for Isabel’s arrival. I stopped at the Harris-Teeter and bought tonic and bread and a gigantic Vidalia onion and a bulb of fresh garlic. When I got home I carefully hung up my suit and began to move the deck furniture off the balcony. I swept up the debris that had accumulated over the ten months I have lived here. I waved to a neighbor who was of like mind. The winds may gust to sixty late today, or so they say. The flower pots and bamboo occasional tables could become missiles. They are now all inside, cluttering the little living room.

Looking at the other balconies it appears many of my other neighbors are considering that participation in the storm is optional. Maybe I am over reacting. We shall see who is right.

When the balcony was swept clean I glanced at the clock. There was Tom Brockaw and the Evening News and I watched the storm part. Tom was in the Outer Banks in a parka. The wind was gusting and mussing his hair. There was a promo for The West Wing at one of the commercial breaks, and they promised to resolve the cliff-hanger that ended last season. I remembered it. The President’s daughter was kidnapped. I’ll have to wait a week to find out. I turned offf the television and went roller blading. I went around the compound five times, a couple miles. I performed intricate little turns and pretended I was skiing down the black asphalt. Finally I could not distinguish the speed bumps in the growing gloom and circled the lot one last time before throwing my pads and skates in the trunk of my car. Perspiration beaded on my forehead as I removed the helmet. It could be the last sweat I work up until the week-end.

Which isn’t to say that I won’t get wet. I think I will walk to work in the calm before, and later I will see how Isabel feels. Finally.

Copyright 2003 Vic Socotra