Gustav means “staff of the Goths.” It’s a little Swedish, a little German, and the name taken by six kings. Very powerful. Everyone gets it this time, I think. As I obsessively watch the Weather Channel and CNN, the empty streets are a good sign. While nothing involving more than two people can ever be perfect, the New Orleans evacuation plan appears to have systematically done what it was supposed to – evacuate. The news is scattered with stories of folks who’ve decided to hang on, ride the thing out, but the pre-Katrina bravado seems to be missing. Many of those choosing to stay are doing so because they feel there is no other choice.

It must be an eerie moment looking out across a silenced French Quarter as the wind begins whistling down the alleys. And the waiting for what happens after. There’s that.

Tomorrow I’ll go find a sandbag or four and try to shore up a low back patio. Gustav’s gift to Arkansas will be a long arm of torrential rain – we’ll see if it’s a hug or a slap across the face tomorrow.

In the meantime, Africa is throwing off storms like warm-up pitches into the Atlantic. I hope Hanna and Ike swing wide and to the right, because folks on the coast have probably lost their sense of humor.

Tomorrow I’ll sandbag and watch the news and the Perfect Grandson will draw a winner for the Ultimate Shelf-Cleaning Book Giveaway. Tonight I’m busy throwing a little Good Juju abracadabra down to Nawlins, even though I throw like a girl. Let’s hope Gustav does, too.