Hey Jakey,

Holy shit! Lovely Rita is heading right for your Nana and Papa, Jake. They left tiny Tivoli this afternoon, marked above with the yellow X, heading north with a carload of dogs and cats, updating me constantly while on the road. I called ahead for them and booked them a room in Waco, where they finally arrived at about midnight tonight. Nana's cousin Vonda is caravaning up behind them, with her assortment of dogs. The room in Waco was only available for one night, so none of us has any idea what will happen or where they will go tomorrow.

I dunno, dear heart. They may not have a home to return to. This one's looking pretty bad.

I wanted them to drive here to stay with us, but I think they want to stay relatively close so they can get back as soon as possible to salvage what they can.

Tivoli (pronounced tie-VOH-luh, for some odd reason) is a wide spot in the road, population next-to-nothing. There's a Dairy Queen, an Ace Hardware, a laundromat, and not much else. I think there's one flashing yellow light at the main intersection. I've only visited there a handful of times in my life, and my general impression is cows wandering around in people's yards, lots of old pickup trucks, and an equal amount of old people. I just don't know if it will survive 175 mph winds and massive flooding.

Talking to your Papa on the phone tonight after they found their motel, I asked him how he could even bear to think of losing the house and all their possessions. He said, "Shit happens..." then kind of trailed off. I could tell he was pretty shaken up, and that he wanted to cry. He handed the phone over to my mom, and she sounded pretty chipper, considering.

Ever since you were born, son, I sense that your Nana has mentally moved to a different place. She's no longer interested in amassing material things. Her old love of antique hunting and flea shopping and estate sales has waned considerably. Earlier this summer, as we drove around G'ville, she kept pointing out tiny little houses, saying, "Honey, wouldn't that be nice to live in..." I reminded her that she'd never be able to fit all her stuff in such small houses. Her reply: Oh, I just don't care anymore. I'm ready to sell all that old shit anyway. Her recent battle with leukemia probably has lent a fresh perspective, as well.

Somehow I think your Nana wouldn't be as totally devastated as your Papa would be if their house just flew away, like in The Wizard of Oz.

Think good thoughts for your grandparents, Jake. Love you.