The Tide is High

Upon arriving at my house after the fun day we’d had roller coastering and spinning and twisting and bouncing and flying and bumping all over the amusement park, I began my own version of Hurricane Preparation.

• I located exactly one flashlight. It was Scott’s and it had batteries. Check.




• I dug out several glass-domed candle burning lanterns. More mood lighting than survival illumination, but light is light. Aromatic candles in place, matches attached. Check. We may float away in the night, but we'll look and smell lovely while doing it.




• I collected a bunch of tapered candles and candlestick holders. Cringed at the thought of wax dripping all over my house. Check.




• Collected it all in a pile on the dining table where any idiot who is running around in the dark in a panic would find them. Check.




• While I still had the benefit of electricity, I paid both fridges a visit and cranked up the freezer and fridge temps to Artic Tundra. A frozen solid tuna steak is not going to turn to cat food in a few short hours.




• I also changed the bed sheets, washed and folded 4 loads of laundry, ran the dishwasher, vacuumed all the rugs, wiped down the bathroom, and mopped the kitchen floor. If my house floats away it will at least be clean and orderly.




• Then I moved all the stuff that normally resides on my porch or lawn, that would be very scary if they were to become airborn, to new homes in the house, garage and basement.




• I rolled the exceedingly heavy jute carpet that once graced my dining room floor but had done its last curtsy, into a long roll at the dry end of the basement. I would have lifted it to lay across the arms of several chairs, but that would have required me to hire Hulk Hogan.




• I made sure that everything else I remotely cared about was up off the ground. I was pretty sure I could go 4 or five inches deep without losing anything of import.

At 10 oclock that night, when Hil and Pat were reasonably convinced that we were not going to have to evacuate in our pajamas and take all the possessions we could carry, and we had all showered and settled in for the night, the lights flickered for the first time.

And came right back on.

By 11 o’clock, when there had been no more hint at drama, I took myself to bed. And took the cat with me. A night like any other.

I texted Scott. He said the wind was howling and he’d lost a tree branch, but other than that, he was doing just fine. The eye of Hurricane Irene was bouncing up the coast along side him and he was doing alright. Nothing remarkable to report. There would be nothing to suggest that anything at my house would go differently.

At 3:30 am I awoke to the soft sound of gentle rain. As I opened my eyes, I realized that my room was completely dark. The power had gone out, I had no idea when. But I was relieved that the storm was not so stormy; that was a good sign. Just the same, I took my flashlight and went to check the basement. If the power was out, my sump pump would be off, and the water could be rising. Or maybe not.

I reached the top of the landing to see Trinket’s kitty litter box just beginning to float away from the step. I tip toed down and snatched it from the water like Moses from the Nile before it was out of my reach …and therefore out of Trinket’s reach. Yikes.

And with my flashlight I could see that the water was about already about 3 inches deep. I knew the power could have been off for no more than 4 and a half hours and did the math. I went upstairs and got my cell phone and texted Scott.

“Taking on water. Staying up for a bit to see where this goes."