G'bye, Frances

Us: 27.88 N, 82.28 W
It: 28.0 N, 82.2 W

We're seeing Frances' taillights as it makes its way out to the Gulf, where it likely will re-strengthen and menace the Panhandle at some point in the next day or two.

A quick walk through the neighborhood shows a lot of leaves and sticks and stuff scattereda about. The storm drain is being worked to the max. The sinkhole across the street from the neighborhood park, home to some species of amphibian, is buzzing like a chainsaw. A mobile home in the rural area one block over from our subdivision suffered very minor damage to an awning.

The damage to our pool screen stands at two panels; pretty minor, but it's at the exact point where we won't be able to fix it ourselves. The tottering privacy fence is still up, but it's going to need to be reinforced before we can let the dogs out.

We never lost power, but we're apparently among the lucky ones. The Wife is venturing out to buy milk, but has been thwarted in her quest so far because none of the area grocery stores have power.

In a weird twist, we're under a new hurricane warning. Because the storm is headed out into the Gulf and expected to regenerate, we're expecting to receive some bad weather courtesy of Frances' ass end, probably overnight tonight.

This was the first time, in five years of living in Florida, that the center of a hurricane passed directly over my head. Our previous time in Florida (interrupted by three years in Texas) was during a time of light tropical activity. I was mildly surprised by a few things:

We expected to see more rain. I don't think we saw anything that we'd categorize as more than a light rainstorm. It was constant, however. It has filled the pool to the very top.

Hurricanes are not accompanied by lightning and thunder, unlike tornadoes in my native Midwest.

Hearing the wind before you feel it is a little weird. We were outside for a few of the higher gusts (probably around 70-75 mph), and you heard it well before you felt it. Kind of spooky.

Bottom line: We're OK. All our neighbors are OK. Our damage is minimal. We're lucky compared to some people in our area. We're going to count our blessings and hope we stay out of the way of the next one.

The official 2 p.m. update

Us: 27.88 N, 82.28 W
It (as of 2 p.m. EDT): 27.9 N, 81.7 W

We still have power, and we're not seeing ferocious sustained wind. The gusts are pretty nasty, though. The eye is about an hour away.

It was originally supposed to have been downgraded to a tropical storm by now, but officially, it's still a Category 1 hurricane.

It's here

Us: 27.88 N, 82.28 W
It: Right over our heads

Thanks to a Blogger server hiccup, somewhere in California, we're delayed on updates.

It's become very dark at 1:51 p.m. Our pool screen has been ripped and is flapping by the top of the frame. The privacy fence is still standing, but it's still leaning.

The worst of the storm, according to radar, is coming right up State Road 60 toward our vantage point. We're seeing very heavy rain -- not the sideways rain; it's still coming straight down.

Lots of small tree debris in front of our house.

Our county's Emergency Operations Center mouthpiece has just come on TV. She's basically telling people it's too late to do anything differently. "What I want to say now is, if you haven't made that decison already and gotten to your shelter, do not leave your home now. We are at that point of the storm were we've actually pulled our people off the highways -- our police officers are in, our rescue people are in. The weather at this point requires that we look out for their safety as we have been looking out for the safety of all our residents."

Then there's my needs

Us: Same as before
It: Same as before, pretty much

I so wish I had a hand-held anenometer.

Battling the wind, and boredom

Us: 27.88 N, 82.28 W
It: 27.7 N, 81.2 W

The privacy fence on the south side of our backyard is starting to get a bit shaky. The pool screen has a minor breach. Leaves and twigs are scattered about on the street in front of our house. Light rain is being buffeted by 40 mph winds.

Other than that, not much is happening here at 27.88/82.28. The Mini-Humans -- the Old Daughter, 10, the Boy, 5, and the Young Daughter, 3 -- are tired of watching the 24-Hour Doppler on TV. They want to watch Toy Story.

At some point, we're going to have to come up with something for them to do. This weather is going to continue on this pace pretty much all day and well into the evening -- light rain and moderate wind, with occasional bursts from a squall.

We're told that 60,000 in Hillsborough County are already without power -- including one of the largest shelters. That's gonna get ugly.

Wake-up call

Our position: 27.88 N, 82.28 W
Frances' position (as of 5 a.m. EDT Sunday): 27.3 N, 80.7 W, just east of Lake Okeechobee

We awakened at about 7 a.m. to the sounds of 50 mph winds. We're about to lose our pool screen.

The Wife stood on the pool deck for a minute and surveyed the situation from our backyard. "That tree's coming down," she said, pointing to a large oak on the other side of our back fence. "And that tree's coming down, and that one's going to end up in the pool ... "

Even weirder: You can hear the wind before you feel it; you can hear it coming in the distance.

The eye is now plotted to go directly over our house. We'll update as power allows.