It’s hurricane season in the Gulf and that means one thing: Time to stock up on Holy Bread.

What? You’ve never heard of Holy Bread? It’s Italian bread from a St. Joseph’s altar that’s been blessed by a priest.

To prevent flooding, you just toss a little chunk of Holy Bread out the back door and pray to St. Joseph (Jesus’ earthly dad) for protection.

I usually have a loaf or two in my freezer for just such an occasion. You can’t buy Holy Bread at the grocery store, by the way. You have to have a Sicilian connection. Mine is my mother.

The day before Hurricane Ike struck last year, Boy helped me spread Holy Bread crumbs everywhere. “St. Joseph, protect the fig tree,” Boy prayed. “St. Joseph, protect the dog house.”

It felt like a sacred ritual as Boy and I solemnly tromped through the yard, blessing everything in sight.

It’s so difficult knowing how to pray when a monster storm the size the Gulf is barreling down on you.

“Make it go away,” you pray, even though at Category 2 and up, that seems physically impossible.

An Atlantic storm, Ana, just disappeared off the radar today, never to return. If only Ike would have made such a quiet exit.

No, when they’re that gigantic, they are going to hit someone. So you pray it won’t be you.

Sorry, Mexico, but you’re our first target when a hurricane comes skating across Cuba. If it veers north, then we hope for Corpus. No offense, ya’ll.

If it’s bound and determined to hit us, we pray we won’t be on the “dirty side.” If we must be hit, make it a clean hit, we pray.

Saturday we visited Galveston for the first time since Ike. If you take the 61st Street exit, you won’t even realize what happened last year. But if you go down Broadway, you’ll see that all the live oaks are dead and lots of the Victorians have turned into boarded-up colonies of mold.

The place is coming back. It was jammed with Houston cars this weekend, bumper to bumper on the Seawall. Yes there are beaches. Yes there is sand. Yes, Galveston lives.

Please God, no more for a while. Please give her a pass this hurricane season. Galveston, if I could, I’d rain down Holy Bread on you.