"There's a hurricane in the Gulf" -- possibly the six most dreaded words in the English language at this time of year. From approximately May to November, whirling masses on satellite weather photos have all our attention; the video kiosks and the Weather Channel do a brisk business. Conversations turn from rocket science to latitudes, longitudes and sustained wind speeds. Technical meetings break long enough to project hurricane tracking charts on the viewgraph screen.

Topics in the smoke pit (where most of the world's major problems are solved) range from how to control the movement of the storms to how to establish "hurricane lanes" (direct routes to unpopulated areas where a big storm could make landfall without creating havoc for the citizenry). Once we figure those things out, hurricanes won't be such a threat any more. We can send them into oblivion or simply stall them in the ocean and let them whirl and blow and eventually die of their own accord. Until we work the kinks out of our theories, however, it's probably best to continue the practice of battening down the hatches and getting out of Dodge.

These days we are as safe as we can be, I suppose, thanks to our wonderful weather satellites and the men and women who fly into hurricanes and other storm systems to send back data. It is because of them that we know where the storm is, how fast it's moving, and how dangerous it promises to be. At least hurricanes can't sneak up on us any more, as happened in the disastrous storm of 1900 when Galveston residents were taken by surprise and thousands perished. Regardless of how much I dread hearing those six little words, I am aways humbled by the knowledge that some of us choose to go into the storm so that all who are in danger may be sufficiently warned.

Hurricanes do have their moments. Oftentimes they bring us together in unusual and unexpected ways. Neighbor helping neighbor, friend helping friend, stranger helping stranger, all intent on putting one another's world right again. Lou fondly recalls the aftermath of hurricane Alicia in 1983, when he and his neighbor took turns making coffee in the mornings out on the grill. And then everyone in the neighborhood came together for a huge cook-off three days after the storm. Faced with lack of electrical power for an indeterminate period, they decided to pool their resources and have a giant neighborhood feed rather than let the food spoil. So they fired up the grills and fed the multitudes.

In searching for some magical answer, I often wonder ... if we did those kinds of things on our own, without a hurricane to prompt us, would the spirit of the wild winds deem us worthy to ignore? Or should I just get busy boarding up my windows?