Where's the gratitude?

Sandy has come and left a destruction behind.  Trees are down, power is out, towns are flooded, people have died.  NYC is a huge mess.  My thoughts on that later.

We are inundated with media coverage of the storm and her aftereffects.  Apparently, nothing is going on in the world beside the immediate local realities of the hurricane.  I know how the storm impacted Connecticut, New York, and New Jersey.  Why do I know this?  The news seems to be a continual loop.  Television and radio coverage is extremely New York-centric.  What has happened to the residents of the Caribbean islands, and those who live along the east coast from Florida to Massachusetts.  What is happening to the west?  A Facebook friend forwarded her photos of the high snows in Maryland and West Virginia that were a result of this 'weather event'.  If my only access to information was limited to television and radio, I would be unaware that people outside my area also have power outages, massive cleaning-up, food shortages.  Thanks to the internet and some connected friends, I do not feel trapped in an information under-load.

People on the news are devastated and angry.  When they are interviewed, they talk about how much property damage they've suffered, how many days without electricity, how long the lines are for gas.  They are saddened by the loss of the Jersey Shore, and the fact that the Memorial Pool at the World Trade Center is now a squalid mass of filth.  I have not heard anyone say to the interviewer, "Yes, we sustained damage, but we weren't hurt. The family is fine.  Our friends are fine.  We are safe."

I've listened to many reporters talking to people after natural and unnatural disasters.  This is the first time I've heard so much grousing and so little gratitude.  Yes, it was bad.  It was terrible.  It could have been much, much worse.  Ask the families and friends of the people who died.  Ask the mother whose  young sons were "ripped out of her arms" [as reported on all stations] and were later found dead.  I find myself thinking about the survivors of the tornadoes in Joplin.  Yes, they were devastated.  They talked about the property damage, but they were also grateful that more people weren't killed or harmed, and they were optimistic.  They swore to rebuild.  And they did.

Maybe it is just too new, too raw, for the residents of the tri-state area to be focused on giving thanks.  Maybe people are just worn down from the economy, from job loss, from hopes and dreams dashed.  Maybe this storm was that one-thing-too-many.  I don't know.

I do know that I am grateful.  I had the opportunity to listen to the roaring winds on October 29, 2012, and feel the power of the storm sweep right through my bones.  My family was not harmed.  They all live in homes that kept them safe, albeit not necessarily warm.  My power was only out overnight.  My husband was, and still is, with me.  My Norway spruce did not harm anyone when it fell.   My neighbor is willing to let me harvest white pine from the tree that fell in her yard.  I will repay her with white pine oil when it is ready.  I had, and still have, plenty of food and clean, potable water.

So, onto the mess that is now NYC.  Mayor Bloomberg and his cohorts did a great job of shutting the city down for safety reasons well before the storm arrived.  I wonder why the entrances to tunnels and subways weren't sandbagged or blocked by inflatable dams during the interim between the shutdown and Sandy's magnificent arrival.  Why weren't emergency generators stored and ready where they were expected to be needed?    I don't know, I'm not an engineer, but I have to believe the great minds who are running the City of New York could have come up flood deterrent measures to protect the infrastructure of this great but aging metropolis.

It is my hope that lessons will have been learned from this event and that we will move forward wiser, stronger, and better prepared for the next emergency.  I hear there's a nor'easter headed our way mid-week.  I'm thankful we've had a few days respite, and a modicum of calm before the storm.

Friday night and storm surge Sandy

The husband is on the other coast drumming up clients and visiting our eldest.  The youngest is trying to decide what she needs to do in preparation for the upcoming storm.  She survived the fires in San Diego a few years ago completely unscathed. (Her update went something like this - "It's okay, ma.  The fires are to the north, south, and west.  We're not affected.") Despite having lived most of her life on the east coast, she is questioning what to do in the event of a hurricane-like storm.  Me too, and I've been through enough of them as an adult.

I'm undecided about the severity of Sandy.  I'm an "expect the worst, hope for the best" kind of girl.  I am somewhat concerned about the possibility of flooding.  I'm worried about the damage to the trees in the area, and thinking about the electrical failures caused by downed power lines.  I am prepared for the wind to take down the trees, and the trees to take down the electrical lines.  I am not prepared for the trees to take down my house.

I have candles.  I have hurricane lamps.  I have milk.  I have a generator.  The cats crates are in the living room in the event of evacuation, but I have not even considered packing a bag for the husband and me.  The phone is charged.  The laundry is done, and the dishwasher is singing a gurgling song as it cleans the dishes.  I have paper books.  I have a land line that is hard wired.  I am a very lucky and blessed woman.

I am prepared to be unable to leave my neighborhood.  The snowstorm of October 29th, 2012, taught me how to love my quiet community in completely new ways.  I am prepared to stay, not quite so prepared to leave.

1999 - Hurricane Floyd.  Heavy rains and wailing winds all day.  During the eye of the storm, I took my caged animal spirit out for a walk to feel the effects of nature-on-rampage.  The quiet was soothing, yet disconcerting.  Not one car passed.  No deer or skunk or stray cats crossed my path.  No birds flew by, no one else was walking. I was completely alone, and reveling in my seclusion.  I found street flooding in my neighborhood that night, but nothing to compare with what happened in Bound Brook just six miles away.   Floyd changed the neighborhood of Bound Brook forever.

Bound Brook was in the midst of revitalization when Floyd hit.  Local businesses were investing in the community, bringing in restaurants, bookstores, tea shops, and theatre.  The town was a treasure in Central Jersey.   One day a thriving community; the next, a war zone.  When the water subsided and the roads were finally open, I drove through a town littered with army vehicles, armed military personnel, boarded up windows, and the stench of mold and rot.  Furniture, appliances, clothing, trash bags, all the detritus of a human life sat curbside.  I remember thinking that this town was truly a war zone, that nature was at war with us, but her destructiveness couldn't compare with what humans do when we are at war with one another.  I don't know now that the comparison is valid.  I hadn't seen the effects of Katrina while I was comparing flooding to war.  I've never been to a war zone.  I have been to Bound Brook before and after Floyd.  I prefer before.

I feel for all who have already been affected by Sandy, and I hope that her power is just being sensationalized by the media.  But, if she is all she is cracked up to be, my heart goes out to everyone in her path.