I just finished giving the apartment a once over so that I can enjoy being housebound while the hurricane makes its way through New Hampshire tomorrow. It will probably start out as a Category 1 and ease down to a tropical storm as it moves on through. I don’t fret. I actually have a sense of anticipation that is akin to looking forward to Christmas or a birthday. I have high hopes but am usually disappointed by the lack of fanfare when it finally does arrive.
Given that the east coast had an earthquake and some minor aftershocks this week as precedents to the hurricane, the evangelists and extreme right wingers (often one and the same) have declared that God has contacted them personally to issue the warning. It seems that Pat Robertson (my personal nemesis) and Glenn Beck (a minor minion of the right wingers) are stating that the various natural disasters and the effects thereof are signs of God’s wrath due to something we have done. Given that the Republicans are holding power in Congress, I would place the blame directly on them if I was one to believe this shit. I am sure, however, that blame will continue to go around in large doses as time goes on.
I do, however, believe that the Mother earth needs to be treated better. In the same way that our physical body reacts when we don’t treat ourselves well, Mother Earth is prone to react to what we do to the environment. There are also earth changes that would be taking place whether we were here or not, so let us not get our knickers in a twist too much about the omens. Mother Earth is showing signs of aging. We should be taking better care of her.
On that note, my back has been out for over twenty four hours and this creates a lot of internal amusement and pain. It is at times like these that I am so glad I am not on a reality show with a camera around 24/7. It took me four tries to pick a hairball off the floor this morning. During one of those tries I was stuck in a semi-squat while I tried to balance myself against the door. I think I heard a chortle from Boo, but then I may have been mistaken. Getting out of bed takes at least three or four tries and I am forever grateful for my four poster bed. Between the post and the wall I was able to pull myself up enough to gain momentum. Without them I would have fallen back and left flailing around like an overturned turtle.
The hurricane is making me nostalgic. I have been viewing the news websites for Norfolk, Virginia and remembering back to the hurricanes I experienced while living there. The first one I can remember is David. That was in 1985 and I had been ambivalent about evacuating because I couldn’t take my cat, Patty, with me. I was about six blocks from the shore of Chesapeake Bay and it was pretty exciting. There was another hurricane during which I spent a good portion of it in O’Hara’s Bar in West Ocean View. The back door of the bar went directly out onto the beach and when the waves starting hitting the door the owner decided that all of the sailors and locals needed to go back to our homes and decrease his liability. I am amazed that the beach is not littered with drunks after the storm is over. Maybe a good portion of them are just washed out to sea.
I remember one storm during which I walked up to the parking lot near O’Hara’s and held on to the railing about the dunes as the wind and rain and sea tried to blow me back home. I loved it. I remember laughing into the wind as my wet hair flattened against my face and my clothes became soaking wet.
During Isabelle back in 2003, I decided to stay at the domestic violence shelter where I was working so others could get home. I lived closer that most of the staff so it just seemed right. We made sure we had plenty of non-perishables and things that didn’t need to be cooked. I spent a good portion of the time watching the water rise in the basement and listening to the trees creaking outside the window. I was relieved by another staff member late that evening and I drove home in the storm and saw power lines falling into the road.
I guess from all this that you could gather that I have a tendency to be stupid during storms. That may be correct. I would even say that although I would shake my head at surfers who would be trying to ride the waves of the storm, I can’t promise that if I was a surfer I wouldn’t do the same thing.
When the powers that be were handing out common sense I was probably standing on a cliff edge wondering if I could learn to fly or winking at pair of brown eyes across a crowded room. Maybe that is why my life has been a series of hurricanes, literally and figuratively. I really wouldn’t have it any other way.
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