>Hurricane Irene : it’s Bush’s fault!
Ron
I scratched my head, searched my brain, even prayed, trying to find a way to blame hurricane Irene on the White House. After all, the blame for just about everything else can be placed somewhere in the proximity of the Rose Garden. Certainly, the White House has no trouble blaming the ills of the Nation on the previous occupant, even the earthquake – Bush’s Fault. Alas, Obama had nothing to do with Irene, although he missed his chance to blame it on the Tea Party.
I spent two days in preparation for the big event. I had food, water, batteries, candles, dog food (no snickering, I really have two dogs), and even did all the laundry, in case the power was out for more than a month. I jammed the outdoor furniture between the back fence and the back of the garage, except for the heavy, tiled tables, which I turned over so only the wrought-iron legs would be brushed by the wind. I took all the hanging chimes inside, that my wife insists on hanging around outside, carried the multitude of potted and hanging plants to safety in the garage and basement and, last but not least, on Saturday evening, put both cars in the garage. I was ready.
I stayed up until 3 am, waiting for the storm to challenge my wiley preparations. Only a moderate wind and a hammering rain were playing taps, when I drifted off. I awoke Sunday morning to the insistent tugging of Quinn, the yellow lab, as he removed my covers. Satchmo, the black lab, was excitedly egging him on. They followed me downstairs, as I shed remnants of sleep. They followed me with their eyes, standing where their bowls would soon be, as I scooped their holistic, organic cereal and added a splash of water. Dogs occupied, for about 90 seconds, I almost had enough time to finish in the bathroom, before opening the back door and letting them into the fenced area, so they could do what I just finished. Now for my coffee. I don’t function before coffee; the only reason the dogs get fed first is pure reflex, tattooed in my nerve network over countless years of dog ownership. The first couple of sips, and I complete my escape from the arms of Morpheus, and head out the front door to get the newspapers.
Until this point, I hadn’t thought about the hurricane; I was running on autopilot. Now, as I surveyed the streets of Bogota, I was awestruck – because all I saw was thousands of leaves, ripped from trees and covering everything. And branches, small branches, here and there. No trees down, no large branches blocking sidewalks and streets, nothing, and damn it, no newspapers. That meant no comics, no jumble, no word game, and no crossword puzzles. I mean, what else is a newspaper for? I haven’t used them to learn the news for years. I walked out to the street and looked up and down, but could still see no damage from the storm. I went to the back, saw leaves and small branches, a duplicate of the front, and realized how lucky I was.
I turned on the TV news. My wife came down, looked out the front door, and asked me to get the newspapers, I said they weren’t delivered because of the storm – our only casualty. She told me they were lying on the path. Sure enough, our paperman was late, but he came through. I happily retrieved them. The news told of lots of flooding, not lots of trees down, and unfortunately a number of deaths. Power was out in places, even in the next town, but except for a couple of hick-ups that only lasted seconds, our power stayed on – all that laundry for nothing. Now, a friend has asked me to write something about hurricane Irene, but his blog is somewhat political. What am I supposed to say, that where I live it was a non-event? I guess I could tell him that it was terrible because I did all that preparation for nothing, and now I have to put everything back. Maybe I’ll tell him that when things don’t turn out as badly as you expect – it’s Bush’s fault!
