Hurricane Musings


I’m sitting in the living room, watching through the slider doors as the woods behind the house thrash.  Steady wind and rain at 2:00 pm with occasional gusts of around 50 mph.  A few dead branches have come down, but no trees so far.  Things are supposed to ramp up around 3:00 and grow until midnight when it’s said things will wind down as the storm moves farther west.

We’re so lucky.  We don’t live along the shore, so we haven’t had to evacuate or make our way through flooded streets.  We’re no longer near a river or creek, so there’s less danger of flooding.  (I’m superstitious enough to avoid saying “never.”)  We have power, although that may change as the even progresses, but we have a generator and a fireplace and a gas stove, so we can stay warm, make hot meals, and flush the toilets.  With luck, we can even take showers.  We are here and safe.  Those we love (insofar as we know) are safe.  One of my Coasties is battling the storm out on Cape Cod.  Another is bringing his own brand of humor to the situation down in Virginia (using his darling wife for scale in movies of the incoming waves).  Some I don’t know are searching for the two missing crew from the Bounty, which Sandy claimed this morning.  (May she take no more.)  Friends who live shipboard are safe in harbor.  A woman I consider a sister lives about 100 miles from where the hurricane is set to make landfall, but she thinks all will be well and I pray that she is right.

I will sit here and watch and wait and maybe do some praying —  that this ends up being far less horrid than expected, that those who are supposed to evacuate WILL instead of being stupid.  And I will count all my blessings.

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About Melissa Crandall

A million years ago--round-about the first Ice Age--I cut my writing teeth on fanzines and science fiction media tie-in novels. I'm happy to say that I've since branched out to include fantasy, horror, essays, and narrative nonfiction. This site will keep you up-to-date on my adventures in writing. I live in Connecticut with my husband--who frequently wonders what he got himself into by marrying a writer--two cats named Tuna and Gypsy, and a semi-neurotic Australian shepherd named Holly.
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