Don't know 'bout you...

Friday, August 26, 2011

Don't know 'bout you...

"I hear hurricanes ablowing.
I know the end is coming soon."

...but it doesn't much feel like the preamble to a hurricane to me, and I've lived it out with at least eight of them, starting with "Carol" and "Edna" less than a fortnight apart in '54, and "Connie" and "Diane" five days apart one year later.

For a brief moment mid-Wednesday afternoon, it "felt" like we were in for something major, weather-wise... but then it didn't.

Advisory: I am not now, nor have I ever pre­sumed to be, a weather forecaster.

And thanks to the rehab wizards at North Mall II, my old separated clavicle has never given me clue the first about barometric pressures.

That role in our house has long been assumed by Amazing Gracie, our terrier mix rescue dog who is anywhere from ten to 20 minutes ahead of the first clap of thunder when she wriggles beneath the bed or behind the recliner if she's on the ground floor.

(She also responds to fireworks the same way, just not in advance. If she had that ability, the Department of Defense would have conscripted her long ago.)

My sole frame of reference is my decades of experience in the area, and a sense of how things have felt during previous Category One or greater storms, even though that particular Saffir–Simpson Scale didn't start to gain pop­ular use until the mid-'70s, just in time for "Belle" in '76.

And anyone who puts any faith in the "news heads" on TV, to them it's just another "story" they're trying to get viewers hooked into to justify their stations' advertising rates.

They have no more idea of what's going on "out there" than did my grandfather "Runty," and he died of dementia 90 years ago!

Rather than some mindless twit on News12 or WNBC, I much prefer listening to the words of the great John Fogerty:

"I hear hurricanes ablowing.
I know the end is coming soon.
I fear rivers over flowing.
I hear the voice of rage and ruin.

Hope you got your things together.
Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like we're in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye."

Still, we have a generator and enough bottled water and CO2 cartridges, rum, gasoline, propane, MREs and ammunition, to last longer than it took LILCO to get squared away after the catastrophic and tricky "Gloria" in '85.

And... you can dance to CCR.


1. Jeanne Speir said...

It does seem quite uncertain how nasty this storm is going to be. On the "Gracie dee Dog" scale thus far it's a Category "Meh." Stay tuned to for hour-to-hour updates.

As for me, I'm an old ER nurse and possibly a Boy Scout in a former life. "Be Prepared" is a very good credo.

Yes, dear... except that I am not not NOT doing anything like "hour-to-hour updates." Sheesh!
– Dean

2. Eliza Doolittle said...

I was not prepared to arrive at the Waldbaum's at 7:30 this morning and find it boarded up already. I can't remember ever seeing that take place in this Village.

Neither have I... not that I haven't anticipated it being boarded up, just not because of an impending storm.

3. Milquetoast said...

Just so long as you have eggs, bread and milk, so you can make French toast on your propane stove.

For my part, all I need is some ice (as long as it holds out), some water and a handful of CO2 cartridges to accompany my Mount Gay Eclipse.
– Dean

4. Mrs Genetics said...

I remember Belle – was working a summer job at Bath & Tennis. They asked several of us to ride out the storm and be on hand to help fix anything that broke. Not a single parent was on board with that plan, so my pals and I had a boring night at home. When I returned the following morning, the pool had transformed into a sandbox. Command central (the dining room) was deserted save some empty liquor bottles and a few glasses at one table, where all the chairs were turned to face the ocean. Must have been a heck of a show!

We started at a hurricane party at the John Fenner house on Moriches Bay in Remsenburg, which Billy Thorne, Skip Schemedes and some others had rented for that Summer, and wound up two streets over at the Simon house on Nickerson where Patsy Eileen Doyle and I spend the night passed out on the (open) front porch.

Woke the next morning to the most extraordinary organic carnage... huge trees had just fallen over all over the area. It had been raining for several days and the ground was so wet it couldn't hold the roots against the Category Three winds. All these enormous trees had just keeled over... just as I had the evening before.
– Dean

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