The yard’s a big green mess, and I’ll need to drive a couple of nails into the fence, but upon preliminary inspection, there doesn’t seem to be any appreciable damage.
I normally don’t schooch my car that close to the fence and alcove, but I did so for the hurricane, and I’m glad I did! A branch from one of our live oaks came down on it, but its force was blunted by the fence. It didn’t even make a scratch.
Scott, a local developer is building two houses behind ours, and I just called him to let him know that one of the palm trees on the lot keeled over in the winds. Luckily for him, it fell away from the houses.
I should get some work done, and I’ve got a hot date with a rake and broom later on this afternoon.
With Kevlar sheets covering our windows, our view outside is mediated through our video doorbells and side camera. It’s raining hard right now in Seminole Heights, and it’ll likely rain harder as the day goes on.
Here’s what weather radar looks like as I write this:
Here’s the view from our front doorbell:
Here’s the view from our porch doorbell:
And here’s the view from our side camera:
We’re on a slight incline leading down to the Hillsborough River, so the water in heavy storms tends to roll right past the house. Here’s hoping that it follows tradition this time.
Here’s a photo taken by someone in our neighborhood and posted to one of the (many) Seminole Heights Facebook groups:
Where we are — the Seminole Heights neighborhood in Tampa — the rain has begun to fall in earnest, and we’re now just waiting to see what happens when Hurricane Ian arrives.
We used to have 1/2″ and 3/4″ plywood sheets with pre-drilled holes that we’d slip onto bolts sticking out of our window frames when a hurricane came. The bolts weren’t the most aesthetically-pleasing thing, and the plywood took a lot of storage space and was a real pain to set up and tear down.
After the last hurricane came through town, we’d decided that we’d had enough of the plywood approach and started looking at other hurricane-proofing solutions for the windows and went with hurricane fabric: kevlar panels with mounting brackets held in place by screws going into holes embedded in the window frame or wall. During non-hurricane times, plastic plugs go into the screw holes.
We have a panel for every window in the house, and the whole set fits in a closet. It would take me a whole afternoon (and ideally, another person to assist) to cover the windows the old plywood way; I can now do the job solo in about an hour with the panels.
Here’s a demo of hurricane fabric in action:
Unpleasant as the replacement costs would be, you consider your windows expendable in hurricane country. What you really want is something that will prevent hurricane projectiles from entering your house (and more gravely, entering you.) We’re counting on the hurricane fabric’s combination of strength and “give” to deflect whatever the cat 3 or cat 4 winds decided to hurl chez nous.
Last Monday, I stumbled across a social media post that led to a very rare and relevant (at least to me) find: a limited-run book published in 1971, written and autographed by Ferdinand E. Marcos.
On Monday, September 19th at about 3:30 p.m., my friend Tom Leber, a local realtor and manager of several properties, posted this message on Facebook:
Another “what tenants leave behind” story…. One of our commercial leaseholds, which used to be a book store, just moved out and emptied the store into the dumpster in the back. If anyone is interested in dumpster diving for a library of brand new books.
The address was pretty close to our house. A minute later, I was in my car, and ten minutes later, I was facing this beast:
I ended up taking dozens of books on all sorts of topics, but there’s one that’s of particular interest to me: Today’s Revolution: Democracy, written by the former head kleptocrat of the country of my birth (and father of the present head kleptocrat), Ferdinand E. Marcos.
Here’s a photo of the book’s cover, taken against my laptop cover for contrast:
Here’s the first page:
Malacañan Palace is the residence and office of the Philippine president — basically, it’s the Filipino equivalent of the White House in the U.S..
It’s hard to tell if the “With my compliments” autograph is a printed image or an actual by-hand signature, but the next page definitely has a real autograph that looks like it was made with a Sharpie:
300 crates of assorted jewelry with undetermined value
$4 million worth of unset precious gems contained in Pampers diaper boxes
65 Seiko and Cartier watches
A 12 by 4 ft box crammed full of real pearls
A 3 ft solid gold statue covered in diamonds and other precious stones
$200,000 in gold bullion
$1 million in Philippine pesos
$124 million in deposit slips to banks in the US, Switzerland, and the Cayman Islands
(And I thought I “travelled heavy” by flying with my accordion!)
I immediately pulled out my phone and Googled for images of Marcos’ signature, and the signatures in the book seem to match the ones online, right down to the big swoosh after the “s”:
It appears that a limited run of these books were printed, if this inscription after the title page is to be believed:
Nobody really knows who was responsible. Marcos and his cronies blamed radical groups like the Communist Party of the Philippines and the New People’s Army, but most historians and even the CIA believe that Marcos was the one behind it. It’s believed that the bombing was carried out to be the rationale for Marcos’ later declaration of martial law in September 1972 (which got a nod from Nixon, who was told that the Philippines was under communist terror attack), which in turn set in motion my parents’ decision to emigrate to Canada.
The book itself pays a lot of lip service to social and economic democracy, liberal society, “revolution” in a sense that’s pretty close to the American Revolution, and warnings against being blinded by ideology. But throughout the book is a strong subtext where Marcos tells you who he really is: a third-world strongman with the confidence that comes with the backing of the U.S. during the era of the Cold War (the U.S. Air Force had Clark Air Base and a Navy base in Subic Bay).
How did this book find its way from Malacañang Palace to the Marcos’ high life-in-exile (in a waterfront house worth $1.5 million in 1986) in Hawaii to a dumpster in Tampa? There’s probably an interesting story there.