Wind. Lots of it, howling around outside the house. No, I’m not aboard Annabel, no one would let me stay and I know, it’s the sensible thing to do, but this is going to be one damned long night, and I probably won’t get any sleep until it quiets down out there, and even then, I’ll probably be jumping in the car to go down and make sure she’s okay.

We put out extra lines in every direction, to the point Frank said I’ll be keeping the docks from blowing away. Stripped the canvas, lashed the bare poles. Dropped the antennas, lashed them down. Secured everything and then some. Frank said I was getting carried away, and pointed out all the boats around us with no preparation. But they’re not MY boat. Yeah, he said, but when they break free guess what they can hit.  Yeah, I know. And even the ones who make the effort, their lines are only as good as their unbacked cleats and all.  My consolation is that Annabel’s built like the proverbial brick shithouse, and even if she does end out in a bumper-boat contest, she should fare better than all those around her. One can hope. The moderate storm surge should keep her keel clear of the low-tide bottom. There’s that wind again, reminding me of all the big trees towering over the house at the moment. I don’t see myself getting much sleep tonight. I think I’ll check the radar again.

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