It’s Tuesday evening, I’m writing a column, there’s a tropical storm cutting across the state … Do you know where your cans of tuna fish are?
That’s all I’ve been thinking about. That’s my storm food if the big one comes. That, some canned peaches and a half-eaten jar of salted peanuts. I couldn’t wait.
Who knows what we’ll be facing Friday morning when this newspaper hits driveways. Could be it’s a bright sunny day out. Or could be you’re reading this in four feet of water over a bowl of Fruit Loops made soggy by the steady drip coming through that hole in your roof. While I’m sitting here typing away Tuesday night, forecasters are pondering what to make of Tropical Storm Fay. She’s already made landfall twice in the state and is supposed to make a left hand turn back toward St. Augustine sometime … well … right about now.
How will this all turn out?
No one knows quite what to make of Fay’s zigging and zagging, but I’m pretty sure she’s drunk. A few too many mojitos over Cuba and the woman’s lit. I wouldn’t be surprised if she passes out on somebody’s porch and sleeps it off. Tropical storms can’t hold their liquor, and boy do they get rowdy.
So as I sit here typing, it’s fair to say I’m a little concerned. I never really used to take hurricane planning seriously. My idea of getting ready for a storm was to have a 12-pack of good beer on hand for when the power was on, and a 6-pack of mediocre-to-lousy beer for when the power went out. When it gets hot and steamy, you need cheap beer. It’s the law.
I would also buy maybe two cans of hash thinking for some reason that the tiny little tins would sustain my wife and me for a couple of days. I never remembered that my wife hates hash, or that there are few things in the world more awful than cold, congealed, tin-flavored corned beef and potatoes. Not even cheap beer can get that taste out of your mouth, which is kind of what I picture three-week-old roadkill tastes like.
Throw in a half-full cigarette lighter with a bad striker, a piece of 3-year-old gum, a dull pocket-knife and some D-batteries leaking syrupy acid, and that was the extent of my planning.
But things are different now that I have a 2-1/2-year-old toddler in tow. I take things more seriously. You must prepare when you have children. Jeez, I can barely get food in her if there isn’t a cloud in the sky and I’ve got chocolate cake. What luck would I have with a dusty can of hash?
So I’ve started making hurricane lists, just in case. I’ve thought about what we would do if the big one comes knocking, and how we should prepare.
We went grocery shopping and I actually added bottled water and non-perishable cans of food to the cart. No hash came home, and most frightening of all, I forgot to buy hurricane beer. What’s happening to me?!?
I’ve also become an online hurricane addict. I practically live on the National Hurricane Center’s site, and other assorted pages that give me cool radars and interactive features that I can stare at for hours pretending I know what they mean.
“Oh my goodness, the millibars are dropping. That’s way worse than hail. We’re heading for Vegas!”
I study satellite imagery, check out windfield analyses and even make my own landfall predictions. “You know, I was down in that part of the state once and got a bad vibe from a gas station attendant who wouldn’t give me the bathroom key. I bet they get nailed!”
I’m thinking ahead, and trying to get myself organized.
Hopefully Friday comes and all is well in our little land. The worst we get might just be rain and heavy winds. I could go for that. But if it gets worse, hopefully we’ll be ready. If we’re not, and you happen to have extra cans of hash and cheap beer, I’ll trade you some tuna fish and a half-full cigarette lighter.