Hurricane Glance
Connie's Log - West Indies: 8 September 2002 - SUNDAY
It's easy to forget that Hurricanes are a genuine, albeit infrequent, threat here. The cooling breeze from the sea makes any shaded area sufficient to call home. I could happily live in a Gilligan's Island hut so long as the professor was there to handle the technology for refrigeration, a flush toilet, and Internet access....oh, and a blender. Even the landlady's stories of past hurricanes, and her husband's injury from being blown across a room didn't disturb us.
We enjoy the stories, like watching the iguanas, they remind us we are on an adventure far from California. Not even the wrecked houses bother us . After all, this is the twenty-first century, we'll know for weeks if a storm is coming, and even then, what are the odds of hitting our tiny hillside on little old St. Thomas.
Only the weather itself is powerful enough to get our attention. Two nights ago a rain shower blew in hard startling us awake. We hopped from the bed and slid the doors shut, then lay listening to the wind, and remembering the stories. The rain passed, and the morning breeze was stiffer than usual. It might have been annoying if we'd been here longer. But, I'm still enjoying myself, and I tolerate holding my paper with two hands, and catching my glasses as they blow across the table. Still, I asked Brian to explain to me the policy that boats must be taken from the marina in the event of a tropical storm or hurricane. If, I reasoned, hurricanes are so dangerous, are they not potentially sending me to my death in order to save their precious dock from being banged up. Brian explained that it's harder on a boat to be tied up during a storm. I didn't dispute that, simply that it was harder on my body to be on a boat at sea during a hurricane, than say watching it on a television in Miami, or better still, Okanogan.
I'm not sure how this happened, but the next thing I knew Brian was saying I needed to get my pilot license current, and instrument and twin ratings so I could fly the Aztec away and sit comfortably somewhere, praying for him to weather the storm like Lieutenant Dan on Forest Gump's shrimp boat. It's enough to make me miss earthquakes.