The weather channel is out my window.. . .

It's 9:30 in the morning. I'm sitting at my computer and the view from my window is zero. Biscayne Bay is a blur and I can barely see the tops of the palm trees on the deck below. Tropical Storm Bonnie has come to call, and the electricity just blinked off for a second, making me wonder if I should get out some candles and check the batteries on my flashlight before I continue writing.

Bonnie is not a full fledged hurricane, thank goodness, but she's looking and sounding pretty ugly right about now and according to the TV, she's going to intensify as the day goes on. Our dinner plans at a fancy restaurant just went out the window. The new plans are for a pot luck dinner at the significant other's apartment with two other couples. One is in charge of vegetables. The other is bringing salad. Benard is doing the main course. . .a side of salmon he just happens to have in the refrigerator. The man never ceases to amaze me. I, of course, will be setting the table with my usual style and elan. I'm also in charge of wine, so no sneering at my contribution to the occasion.


Thankfully, Bonnie is no Andrew, or even Wilma of two years ago, but I can't help remembering my pre-Andrew days in Miami when we innocently thought that hurricanes were an occasion to have a party. In the early 60's we lived on the man-made Keystone Islands in North Miami. Since they had never been hurricane tested, one time when a hurricane threatened, ten or twelve couples, complete with kids and dogs (we had two at the time) booked rooms in a bayfront hotel to ride out the storm and party hearty. What were we thinking??? Could we have chosen a worst place??? Fortunately, the storm wasn't as bad as projected.

Wisdom came the hard way in August of 1992 with the arrival of Hurricane Andrew. As an island in Biscayne Bay, Grove Isle is an evacuation zone, so I confidently packed up my two cats, Pasha & Sasha, and drove southward to daughter Andrea's home in the Kendall area. Another great choice. I won't bore you with the details. Suffice to say that two very frightened women, one 14 year old boy (that was you, Adam) and 5. . .count them. . .5 very scared cats. . (yes, we are a cat family and Andrea had 3 at the time). . all spent a very sleepless night praying that the front door would hold and the roof wouldn't blow off.


In retrospect, you do some strange things when you are up against nature. We had no storm shutters and the entire rear wall of Andrea's house was made up of glass paneled french doors. The only thing we could find to protect ourselves from the threat of flying glass was a series of huge cardboard posters that were part of the decoration from Adam's recent bar mitzvah. We had no electricity during the endless night hours of the storm, but every time the lightning lit up the room we were faced with lifesize portraits of Adam in various sports outfits, since his love of all sports was the "theme" of the bar mitzvah party. Pretty funny, now that I think about it.

Not so funny was the fact that Andrea's neighborhood was without power for some nine weeks after the storm. Neighbors took turns sitting in front of their damaged homes with rifles on their laps and the mood of the day was "You Loot. . We Shoot". Life became a round of finding gasoline to fuel the generator that allowed a choice of some airconditioning or some electricity during the searing heat of late August in Miami. We would go on gas runs to Broward County where gas stations had not been damaged by the storm. Andrea used to say you could tell a hurricane woman by her perfume: "eau d' kerosene". Teen age Adam was in charge of keeping the generator going and became very adept at handling the 5 gallon gas cans.

That was 18 years ago, but memories die hard. Blow your heart out, Bonnie. I've seen worse. You're no big deal. At least I hope not. # # #