The I of the Hurricane

According to the Capital Weather Gang, In the history of hurricane names, ‘I’ stands for infamous.

Their argument is that by the ninth named storm of the season, things get cranking in the Atlantic, and so conditions are right for some powerful hurricanes. Of the 84 storm names retired, 10 of them have begun with I, more than any other letter.

Anecdotally? I can support that claim. For me, that ninth storm of the season has had great impact over the years:

In September 2003, Hurricane Isabel closed school for a couple of days. Many in our community were without power, but our lights were on, and we used the windfall of time to find a puppy. Isabel was a great dog.

In late August 2011, we battened down the hatches for the impending destruction of Hurricane Irene, but that storm was a bust, neither class was canceled nor puppies adopted. Was I disappointed? Perhaps, but it made a good blog topic.

Today, in 2020, Hurricane Isaias came ashore in North Carolina and stormed up the East Coast. Here at home we had some rain and wind, but no flooding or other damage. Up in New Jersey though, half a million are without power, and 2 nice ladies and a dog got their vacation rained out.

Sure, there have been other memorable storms in my life. I vaguely recall Camille and Agnes from when I was little; I rode out Gloria with my dad and sister in Virginia Beach in '85; my ex went to Puerto Rico for a month after Hugo in '89, and of course Katrina and Superstorm Sandy made big news.

But when it comes to me? It's all about I.

Yer Out! (but Safe at Home)

Concerned about the impending storm, I contacted the owner of the bay-front vacation home we had rented for advice. The house is equipped to withstand the storm, she replied. The house will rock, but don't be scared. I love storms there! And this morning as we packed for our week away, it seemed like the storm track was favorable; it would be rainy tomorrow, but nice the rest of our stay. And so off we drove the 3 1/2 hours to the southern shore of New Jersey.

The air was heavy and still when we arrived, and the sky was low. We worked up a sweat as we unpacked the car, our footsteps crunching over the crushed shell drive and up the outside steps to the entrance. Inside, it was cold. Someone had set the window units to 60, probably to cool the place down fast, and we stepped out on the deck overlooking the Delaware Bay to call the owners and let them know we had arrived.

They assured us again that although the house would rock, and the waves would be high, and the power might go out for a short time cutting the well water, by tomorrow night all would be well, and we would have a story to tell our friends. With that, we unpacked.

The phone rang a little while later. The owners sheepishly told us that an evacuation order had just been issued. Seems like a second storm was predicted to collide with the first, and flooding and power outages were practically guaranteed, putting the house out of commission for a couple days and threatening our car. You can ride out the storm with us, they offered, or maybe go to a hotel?

Neither option fit the cooler full of food we had brought to comply with the quarantine order for residents of our state, and 2 days away from the house was half of our vacation gone. It was 5:30, and the wind was picking up. Isaias was predicted to arrive from the south in a few hours, so we thanked them, repacked all of our stuff, carried it down to the car, and came home.

(But not before buying some peaches and blueberries and corn. And I would've stopped in a heartbeat for hoagies  if I'd seen a place. I'll be back New Jersey-- just you wait.)

Yesterday Once More

I like to think I have a pretty good memory; that's why it was so appalling today as we listened to the AT40 countdown from July 28, 1973 that I kind of knew the songs, but not really. "What the heck was I doing that summer?!" I asked Heidi in exasperation. But of course she had no idea-- we would not meet for another 25 years. "Obviously not listening to the radio, for some weird reason," I concluded.

It wasn't until the countdown reached number 2 that it all became clear to me. As the Carpenters sang Yesterday Once More, I remembered that for my birthday in June that year I got a cassette tape player and recorder, and I spent the summer listening to the one tape I also received, The Carpenters Greatest Hits.

I also recalled that when we went to California to visit our friends, I made everyone listen to my tape. Those kids were Callie cool, and let's just say that the Carpenters were not on their playlist, but after a few days there, I got the confidence to play my music. It went over fine, but later that night, when our parents tuned into the summer replacement variety show hosted by, who else? The Carpenters! There were groans all around.

"Why did we have to listen to that tape?" one of the kids moaned as Karen and Richard crooned, We've only just begun... "Once a day is enough!"

Two Strikes

Mandatory quarantine AND a hurricane?

I'm beginning to worry a little bit about my vacation next week.

Multipurpose Rooms

As I folded up the floor mat and put away the weights, I looked around and sighed. Our little house has become even more cluttered than usual lately. Paint and rocks cover the dining room table, mason jars are stacked in the kitchen, spare pots and soil are piled in the corner of the deck.

It's hardly surprising, though. Since March this 2 bedroom condo has been our home, but also our offices, our gym, our art studio, one of our gardens, our meditation space, our theater, and our kitchen, cannery, and bakery.

I guess that's pretty impressive for 1180 square feet!

Tomatoes, Hot and Heavy

A friend recently informed me that tomatoes have a hard time ripening when the temperature is over ninety. I had never heard such a thing, but that certainly explains all the stubbornly green tomatoes in my garden. In fact, when I checked in on the garden this afternoon, the tomatoes that I picked were actually hot to the touch after spending several 90+ degree hours in the direct sun.

This hot, dry weather has affected my tomato crop in another way, too. When birds are thirsty, they just peck a little hole in one of the almost ripe tomatoes and drink the juice right out, leaving the poor tomato to rot on the vine. With both these adverse conditions going on, I have taken to harvesting my tomatoes when they are still a bit firm. A day or two in a paper bag allows the ethylene gas they naturally produce to ripen them, almost as nicely as if they had stayed on the vine.

And so it was that late this afternoon I found myself hauling 12 1/2 pounds of produce the three quarters of a mile from my community garden to my house, and although the sweat was literally dripping from my brow as I climbed the last set of stairs to gain our stoop, I was only thankful that I have been working out lately!

Production Design

"Was it buggy?" I asked my friend Mary when she told me the other day that she had recently been to Roosevelt Island to walk its boardwalk and trails.

"Not really," she answered. "It was a pretty good walk."

I thought of that conversation when we were trying to think of a place to take Lucy and her pal Beckett while we were watching him this morning, and so after picking him up at 9 AM we turned the car north on the GW Parkway and made the quick trip to the island.

It was a little more crowded than I expected it to be on a hot summer morning in July, and there was a lot more noise than usual, too. Somewhere chainsaws and chippers were ripping up fallen trees, and we were startled by several white pick up trucks rumbling down the unpaved trails. Even so, by the time we made it around to the back of the island things were quieter, and it was easy to keep social distance from the other pairs of visitors and their dogs. Continuing on, we had the upper trail to ourselves until we made the turn into the memorial itself. There we found all the pick ups and park workers converged, and we paused to make sure we could pass at least six feet from the nearest crew.

A friendly workman smiled at the dogs. "There's a lot going on here today!" he reported cheerfully. "President Trump gave us the word that he wants to pay a visit here!"

All of the activity suddenly took on new meaning.

"We are even filling the moats and fixing the fountain to run," he told us.

"Wow!" I answered. I couldn't remember the last time any of the water features had been running. "When is he coming?"

"Who knows?" he shrugged. "They won't say. And you know the worst part?" he asked. "Nobody will be allowed here to see the park when it's all fixed up! Not even us! You can bet the secret service will see to that."

"I'm sure it will look great, though," I assured him. "And I guess we can all get a look at it on TV."

He seemed unconvinced, but he laughed. "You all have a good day."

"You, too!" I replied, "And thanks for all the hard work!"