nora waits with bated breath

All storms share one common characteristic. 

At least, in my experience.

No matter where I have lived, while everyone waits for the arrival of The Big Blow, nature seems to take a siesta. Or maybe she is just drawing a breath. Either way, the old cliché ("the lull before the storm") bears a soupçon of truth.

I noticed the phenomenon on the afternoon of 12 October 1962 -- Columbus Day. My brother and I had just come home from school when we stopped in our front yard to look at a jumble of clouds moving in over a ridge above the west bank of the Willamette River. But it was not the clouds that caught my attention. It was a light in the sky. There was an odd greenish and yellow light as if the sky was being lit for a performance.

A scientist would probably deduce that it was nothing but the late afternoon sun refracting through the clouds. But it was eerie.

What was eerier was how quiet everything was. Even though the clouds were moving, there was no wind on the ground. No birds chirping. No dogs barking. Nothing.

Well, that did not last long. Within an hour Darrel, Mom, and I were experiencing Oregon's worst wind storm since the late 1800s. Had it been a cyclone, it would have registered as a category 3 hurricane.

So, what did the three of us do? We jumped on our bikes and rode around the neighborhood watching trees fall and power lines snap. Our neighbors thought we were nuts. Maybe we were.

When the silver maple in our front yard toppled into our driveway just missing us, we decided the rest of the storm would be best-watched from our upper story.

When Hurricanes Jova and Patricia hit the villages on Navidad Bay, it was the same. Silence before the wind rushed in.

For the first time this year, a cyclone is drawing near our coastline. A whole series have passed us by out at sea, but Tropical Storm Nora may actually give us a little buss as she passes by.

If NOAA's predictions are correct, Nora will be upgraded to a hurricane around 1PM tomorrow when she is as close as she is supposed to get to us. Still out at sea. But we will undoubtedly get some rain. And some wind. We are currently (and concurrently) under a hurricane watch and a tropical storm warning.

I drove down to the malecon in Barra de Navidad this afternoon to see how the town is preparing for our rather feisty visitor. (I emphasize that I drove because my doctor reads these essays, and I would not want her to believe I am not at least trying to follow her instructions about my toe surgery.) Life seemed to be normal for a misty Friday afternoon.

I had heard that Jalisco had ordered its beaches closed because of the weather. Even though there are Civil Protection people in town, that word has not yet made it to the vacationers who are enjoying the Barra beaches.

There were families picnicking on the beach -- and probably two dozen family members were swimming in the lagoon.

A romantic couple canoodling in the ocean.

Even the fishermen were out at the end of the jetty trying to entice the fish into believe it was just a normal day.

And, of course, the surfer boys were waiting for the perfect storm-born wave. To their disappointment, the waves were almost lake-like.

The waves reflected the atmosphere. Just like that afternoon in 1962, everything was tranquil. There was not even a hint of wind. The frigate birds were frustrated with each attempt at a stall. There was nothing to stall into.

Even the pangas moving back and forth across the bay seemed to be moving by some force other than their motors.

Next week I am going to write an essay about the lack of tourist trade this August. That is why I was not surprised to see, even though most of the bars, shops, and restaurants were open, there were not very many paying customers at hand. But it is not because of our pending storm. They simply have not been here this August.

What was interesting was that not one person I saw at the beach or the people streaming down the streets at the close of a Friday evidenced any concern about any pending weather (with the exception of a northern acquaintance who seemed to be a bit tense about what was on the way).When I told my neighbor at Oxxo that I was buying ice just in case we lost electricity, he looked at me as if I was an hysteric predicting the end of the world.

When I moved to this area thirteen years ago, the state of Jalisco had just installed a tsunami warning system along its coast. One of the speaker towers is hosted by the Barra jardin.

As I was getting into my car, the speaker announced something about Tropical Storm Nora. Because I was underneath the speaker, the distortions were too great for me to fully understand what had been said. A Mexican neighbor, who speaks a bit of English, was walking by. I asked him what the announcement said. His answer summed up what I saw on my walk.

Without missing a beat, he said: "Who cares? It was just something about the weather." It reminded me of Churchill's response to the great London killer fog: "It's just weather."

I am not quite that cavalier about our weather systems, though I must confess that harsh weather does interest me. And I have learned that hubris is a harsh master when I am forced to eat my words. But I think I am ready if Nora sends us her worst.

What I do not have is Mom and Darrel here to re-live our Columbus Day adventures 59 years ago. At least I have the memory.

Besides, my bike has a flat tire.