Saturday, 7:15am: I go to the bank to get some cash because that’s what all the people on TV are saying to do. They haven’t said why I need cash (tipping?), but I get it anyway. I also fill my car up with gas, because the TV people also said to do that. I have no idea where I would go during a hurricane, but I’m ready to go there.
My wife Barbara has also been following the TV people’s instructions. She went out to buy "non-perishables." This, to Barbara, meant about a dozen bags of assorted chips and one container of guacamole, which, I guess, she figured would be long gone before it could perish. This is actually an improvement over her stock-up strategy for Y2K when she bought cans and cans of mandarin oranges.
Saturday, 8:20am: We feel as though we should start battening down the hatches, but we’ve searched our new house and it doesn’t seem to have any hatches, which is just as well, because we have no actual idea what the verb "to batten" means. Instead, we put all the patio stuff into the garage.
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Saturday, 11am: It seems like the day before the hurricane is a good time for a nap.
Saturday, 3:37pm: It occurs to us that we’ve spent all afternoon in the house for no apparent reason, which is particularly stupid since we assume we’ll be spending all day tomorrow in the house.
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Saturday, 5:30pm: We decide to go out for an early dinner, preferably somewhere with valet parking. I need people to tip. On the way home, we hear a weather forecast on the radio: breezy and rainy. I believe the weather forecaster would have called Hitler "an unpleasant fellow."
Saturday, 10:00pm: The first hurricane victims in our area are undoubtedly local TV news reporters who have been providing "extended coverage" since early this morning without really having anything to report. ("The storm is coming. The storm is still coming.") On WNBC, reporter Katy Tur has resorted to interviewing a couple solely because they brought her a cup of coffee. New Jersey reporter Brian Thompson, famous for measuring snowfall with a yardstick, has literally just asked a passer-by for his rain slicker. From the studio, Sue Simmons asks Brian if he will spend the evening asking people for their clothes.
Saturday, 10:17pm: I take my dog Toby out for his evening walk and he drops a mountain of poop that makes be think he somehow knows this might be a difficult activity tomorrow. This is called the "crap before the storm."
Sunday, 1:30am: I am awakened by howling wind. Although I don’t really have to, I go to the bathroom. If we lose power, our pump can’t give us water from the well, and we’ll have to ration flushes. I go while I can.
Sunday, 4:30am: I am awakened by loud beeping followed immediately by loud barking. The beeping means the battery back-up on my PC has kicked in and we’ve lost power. The barking means my dog really hates the beeping.
Sunday, 4:40am: I take the dog out. Although I don’t usually use a leash, Toby is a 23-pound Shetland sheepdog and I’m afraid he might get blown away. He takes two steps outside and turns around. "Toby, you have to go," I say. He does. He’s a good boy.
Sunday, 5:20am: I lay awake, extremely angry. We actually have a generator on order. The good news is, once it’s installed, there will never ever be another power outage.
Sunday, 8:00am: We listen to a report on our portable radio. Apparently there’s a hurricane out there.
Sunday, 9:36am: Hurricanes are boring.
Sunday, 11:19am: Barbara and I go outside to clean up a bit. Not that we think the storm is over, but the house is sort of gloomy and the "breeze" is refreshing. There’s no major damage on our property, just a lot of branches and such, and we pick up the bigger ones and put them in a big pile because, frankly, we don’t know what else to do with them. Maybe we’ll have a campfire. We stop after awhile because I don’ want to work up a sweat because I can’t take a shower.
Sunday, 12:03pm: I swear, if a walk into one more room and flick the light switch I’m just going to shoot myself.
Sunday, 12:48pm: The day of a hurricane is a good time for a nap.
Sunday, 2:06pm: I hear birds outside and realize I haven’t heard any since yesterday. Maybe that means the storm is over. Or maybe the birds are trying to warn us that a tree is about to fall on us. Thank you, birds!
Sunday, 2:27pm: I’ve been computerless all day. This is the most I’ve written longhand in years. My hand is cramping.
Sunday, 3:00pm: The Merritt Parkway is opened and, somewhat against my better judgement, we take off for my sister-in-law’s place in Westchester. I feel like we shouldn’t abandon ship but, then, if we were on a ship, I would have battened something down.
Sunday, 4:48pm: The wind is dying down. My family is happy now that they have internet access. Toby has pooped again. All is right with the world. Except for the part about possibly being without power for days.
I am just so pissed about that generator!
For more on our adventures as first-time homeowners at age 57, and moving to Stamford, visit http://theupsizers.wordpress.com/
