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funny, but true.
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Lessons from Wilma
Published November 2, 2005
Much like birth control, denial does not qualify as a hurricane plan.
D batteries are the silver lining behind a storm cloud.
Screened patios are made to be broken.
Kids who sleep with nightlights can sleep without them. They really can.
Electricity is a luxury. Hot water for a shower is a necessity. Otherwise you wind up with a cadre of funky citizens stumbling over each other in the dark.
The roof that's in your yard is probably not your own.
Generators groaning from the neighbors' homes growl loud and taunt like the jeer of the devil.
Ever think you could love ice? Not just love. But "love-love." Like want to build your hopes and dreams around it. Want to make up sappy poetry about it: "Kiss' thou lips with thine cool sweetness; touchest thou breast with thine frosty air…" You know, corny poetry, the magnetic kind you put up on the side of the fridge.
Power saws could be the next big sexy must-have accessory. They give good vibrations.
Storm damage brings out the existentialist in insurance companies: For if a fence is damaged in my yard by a tree in my neighbor's yard does the fence really exist? Did the tree make a sound? Will the tree pay the deductible?
Children playing outside. In the fresh air. Running and playing and climbing. Digging in dirt and discovering rocks and nature. Not an arcane ideal from an antiquated Reader's Digest but a fact when there is no electricity and limited battery-operated joy afoot. Children running and playing. Without Timmy Turner or SpongeBob or Jimmy Neutron or Spider-man. Just with each other. Hmm ... Now ain't that something?
In times of crises, mass hysteria becomes just another form of popularity. How else can one explain waiting in gas lines so long that you run out of gas just so you can go home and not drive anywhere else for fear of not having enough gas? Hmm ... being in line, especially in the first few days after the storm, was popular. Everybody was doing it. At least, that's what the voice in your head said.
Beware the voice in your head. It also told you not to fill up before the storm or buy extra batteries or bottled water because the "weather folks don't know what they're talking about. It's not going to be so bad."
"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is ... fresh meat, and produce and hot meals."
If people were in line for supplies such as water and ice hours after Wilma, for what were they in line hours before the storm?
Ever think you'd cheer the blazing mega-white lights of the CarMax lot along I-595? Or the ordinary flash of a traffic signal? Ever think the simple, commonplace appearance of lighted grocery-store parking lots would fill you with wonder and bring the sparkle of a tear to your eye?
Three people arrive at an intersection simultaneously. There is no traffic light, only stop signs at each corner. If an SUV waits eastbound, a sedan westbound, and a sports car idles heading south, who will be first to flip the bird and blow through the stop?
Home-schooling takes on a new concept as hurricane hiatus lengthens and little ones need to resume their A-B-Cs and 1-2-3s. For children set adrift on this winsome sea of extended play, how do we tug them ashore and keep their minds from dropping like anchors? Does homeowner insurance offer Nanny 911 coverage?
Much remains uncertain. Homes and businesses remain in the dark. Trees and communities are broken and fragile. But the light is coming. Tourists will return. And we will be beautiful, leafy, exotic and optimistic once again.
--------------------
Lessons from Wilma
Published November 2, 2005
Much like birth control, denial does not qualify as a hurricane plan.
D batteries are the silver lining behind a storm cloud.
Screened patios are made to be broken.
Kids who sleep with nightlights can sleep without them. They really can.
Electricity is a luxury. Hot water for a shower is a necessity. Otherwise you wind up with a cadre of funky citizens stumbling over each other in the dark.
The roof that's in your yard is probably not your own.
Generators groaning from the neighbors' homes growl loud and taunt like the jeer of the devil.
Ever think you could love ice? Not just love. But "love-love." Like want to build your hopes and dreams around it. Want to make up sappy poetry about it: "Kiss' thou lips with thine cool sweetness; touchest thou breast with thine frosty air…" You know, corny poetry, the magnetic kind you put up on the side of the fridge.
Power saws could be the next big sexy must-have accessory. They give good vibrations.
Storm damage brings out the existentialist in insurance companies: For if a fence is damaged in my yard by a tree in my neighbor's yard does the fence really exist? Did the tree make a sound? Will the tree pay the deductible?
Children playing outside. In the fresh air. Running and playing and climbing. Digging in dirt and discovering rocks and nature. Not an arcane ideal from an antiquated Reader's Digest but a fact when there is no electricity and limited battery-operated joy afoot. Children running and playing. Without Timmy Turner or SpongeBob or Jimmy Neutron or Spider-man. Just with each other. Hmm ... Now ain't that something?
In times of crises, mass hysteria becomes just another form of popularity. How else can one explain waiting in gas lines so long that you run out of gas just so you can go home and not drive anywhere else for fear of not having enough gas? Hmm ... being in line, especially in the first few days after the storm, was popular. Everybody was doing it. At least, that's what the voice in your head said.
Beware the voice in your head. It also told you not to fill up before the storm or buy extra batteries or bottled water because the "weather folks don't know what they're talking about. It's not going to be so bad."
"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is ... fresh meat, and produce and hot meals."
If people were in line for supplies such as water and ice hours after Wilma, for what were they in line hours before the storm?
Ever think you'd cheer the blazing mega-white lights of the CarMax lot along I-595? Or the ordinary flash of a traffic signal? Ever think the simple, commonplace appearance of lighted grocery-store parking lots would fill you with wonder and bring the sparkle of a tear to your eye?
Three people arrive at an intersection simultaneously. There is no traffic light, only stop signs at each corner. If an SUV waits eastbound, a sedan westbound, and a sports car idles heading south, who will be first to flip the bird and blow through the stop?
Home-schooling takes on a new concept as hurricane hiatus lengthens and little ones need to resume their A-B-Cs and 1-2-3s. For children set adrift on this winsome sea of extended play, how do we tug them ashore and keep their minds from dropping like anchors? Does homeowner insurance offer Nanny 911 coverage?
Much remains uncertain. Homes and businesses remain in the dark. Trees and communities are broken and fragile. But the light is coming. Tourists will return. And we will be beautiful, leafy, exotic and optimistic once again.
