It’s been a lost week. I mean, who has time for a hurricane, anyway?
It was supposed to be our first full week of school and dance and karate and schedules and all the things, and instead, we had one semi-normal day before everything had to start shutting down.
One by one, households and family and friends left town – because we were evacuated.
One by one, my brain cells went up in vapor as Rod and I went back and forth, back and forth, over staying or leaving (We stayed, with our generator, our kickin’ drainage, our hurricane shutters, our supplies, and most of our neighbors).
One by one, advice, warnings, judgements, admonishments, concerns, freak-outs, high-fives, memes, live chats, fake news, news spoofs, last-minute donut/bagel runs and general crazy was passed around among friends we see every day and people we haven’t talked to in 15 years.
Hurricane Florence. It’s hard to explain the crazy fog that descended on us in this particular weather event. It was long, y’all. We started bunkering down MONDAY night and the friggen thing seemed to lay its worst on our area on SUNDAY – lots and lots and lots of rain, flooding and closed roads.
Our little family, the one in this household, has suffered no ill effects, other than cabin fever.
Our extended family, Burton Nation, mostly spread out, and most of them are back.
Not every area fared so well. We are praying and watching and looking for ways to help.
On Friday, I think, we were able to get into a stranger’s home (with permission given over the phone) and close a window that had caved in. Maybe that’s why we stayed. I don’t know.
On Saturday, I finished writing a novel that I’ve been working on since last April.
Rod made new friendships with people in our neighborhood. We were offered places to stay by people we have never met. We connected with local businesses. We had opportunities to thank our first responders. We fell in love with our community all over again.
We had a fun night at one of our favorite restaurants before the evacuation began. We ate like kings for three nights – complete with things like homemade enchilada sauce and braised pork roast, and by Sunday, I was having a bowl of cereal with my glass of wine.
I cannot explain well enough the hurricane culture of our coastal town. I’m just thankful we pulled through this one, that we learn, and that we know which voices to heed as we make our decisions. (God, Rod, Ed Piotrowski).
It’s weird that a lost week leaves us with unforgettable memories, but it did. It does.