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.
