Hurricane!

Excitement is in the air here in North Florida. You can cut it with a knife. The Fall hurricane hysteria is one of our favorite times of the year. It’s like the buildup to a big game day. Everyone is buzzing. At the gas stations, serpentine lines of thirsty cars and trucks circle parking lots and block the entrance to all stores in the area that we need to get into. Grocery and home improvement stores are doing a record business in bottled water, batteries, food, candles, all the necessary supplies. And liquor stores (so I’m told) are emptying their shelves. People can’t “stock” enough alcohol. It’s what we do, not that we drink all that, but we need it on hand in case of emergency. Like in the old westerns when a guy gets gut shot, the Doc can dig the bullet out but will need plenty of hot water and some whisky to pour on the wound. We become desperate for booze when a hurricane is looming down on us. The traffic at the Shores Discount Liquors store, shares a common urgency, as if it was just announced that prohibition will be the law of the land again starting this Friday. Put down those plywood window panels and run to the liquor store! Heck, enough adult beverages and people won’t care if half of the house blows into the neighbor’s yard anyway.

The local weather man has his sleeves rolled up on camera, sending a clear message that he’s serious about this thing and has been working hard throughout the night to help keep us safe. He’s so beyond ecstatic about all of this that he has to bite his lip bloody just to appear somber, grinning like a fool wouldn’t be appropriate. That small drop of blood at the corner of his mouth is a dead giveaway. This is his Christmas week countdown. He couldn’t be more delighted. It’s a win-win for him. If the hurricane passes us by, he gets a pat on the back for keeping us in the loop, if it hits hard, he gets the same for warning us to be prepared. Like a fireman, everybody loves him, and he’s elated to get some serious air time too.

Right now, people are throwing prayers all over the place. Prayers are flying around like hurricane debris. That stuff works, right? Maybe it would be more effective to remind folks to put their trash cans away, or fill the gas tank, but that wouldn’t carry the same degree of resigned (all hope is lost unless God suspends the laws of nature and intervenes on our behalf) desperation. Certainly we’ll get lots of “thoughts and prayers” from friends up North, just like we sent to them when snowstorms shut everything down last winter. Thoughts and prayers say you care without having to actually lift a finger, much easier to send than a card, or one of those edible fruit bouquets. Probably safer than that fruit thing actually, it may look delicious but it was assembled by two very pleasant minimum wage workers who both have bad colds.

In the last twenty-five years of living in North Florida, the only trouble we’ve had personally was losing electricity when high winds blew a tree branch down over the electric lines to our house. We checked into a local motel that is across the street from our favorite shrimp place. That was fun. The dogs stayed home with the run of the house and yard, doggie door flapping constantly with their excited ins and outs. We stopped by every afternoon to feed them whatever was thawing out in the freezer. They lived on creamy chicken with noodles, beef burgundy, a few steaks, some crock pot dishes I had portioned out and frozen. It was dog heaven.

Our dogs pretty much have the same “all the rules are out the window” hurricane mentality as we do. Its barely raining but Chicca took it as a sign to go ahead and drop a mini turd pile on the oriental carpet in the great room, I can smell it, but that intricate pattern hides the location of her gifts perfectly. I guess I’ll go get my flashlight and put my head down on the floor as I shine the beam back and forth, lighthouse style, looking for a turd ship on the horizon. That’s the only way I can spot them.

But first? Some hurricane coffee. There’s nothing special about it, but we’re in a 48-hour window which demands that everything be preceded by the word “hurricane”. Maybe after my hot cup of hurricane coffee I’ll drop a few hurricane turds on the oriental rug myself. Like I said, all the rules are out the taped-up windows.

I better go check on the safety of my reserve of hurricane vodka though. Above all else, family pictures and valuables, it must be protected. Who knows when I may need to pour alcohol on a gaping wound… or into my last glass of hurricane ice?