Because I couldn't be any gayer, that's why.
Whether rightly or wrongly, this is the song that has been stuck in my head ever since the Weather Channel and all the news programs, national and local, began whipping up their 24-hour frenzy of chronicling of every bump, gust, drop, and whistle of Hurricane Irene's advance toward the North Carolina coast, New York, and beyond. A trek that has been days in the making and promises to be many more in the unmaking.
Because I grew up in the region where the storm has made landfall--only 15 minutes from Bogue Inlet Pier in light traffic (i.e., not summer)--I am particularly sensitive to hurricanes and the havoc they can wreak. Carol Douglas, notwithstanding.
However, I have to admit, nothing--except maybe a bowl of chicken pastry (not dumplings, you ignorant Yankee narrator!)--makes me feel more nostalgic for childhood than a hurricane. Despite all the dire warnings and potential for harm and damage, the oncoming storm engenders a certain amount of excitement and energy. As the sky grows more menacing and the winds more dramatic, everyone's pace quickens, your senses are heightened, and life seems more vivid. What happens next? How will this play out? What destruction will nature cause? Will things ever be the same again?
In the sleepy coastal North Carolina of my childhood, I was always grateful for the natural thrill brought on by the approach of a hurricane.
Then again, I never lived through a really bad one. From what I recall, way back when, in the late 1960s and 1970s, we merely had a series of indifferent hurricanes and weak-willed tropical storms, most of them just grazing the coast, dumping a lot of rain, and washing away the beach. Only later in the '80s and '90s, after I had moved away and my parents had relocated inland to the Triangle, did the storms get bad. I remember leaving home one afternoon, heading back on a plane to Texas, lucky enough to escape a particularly severe hurricane that even affected area 125 miles inland. While I was home and dry in San Antonio, my parents endured 100+ mile-per-hour sustained winds for several hours. With all the downed trees, they didn't have electricity again for more than a week. They couldn't even get out of their neighborhood, until neighbors with chainsaws started cutting through the debris to create a path to the main road.
So indulge my nostalgia at your peril. Obviously, I don't know what I'm talking about in terms of health and safety. But snowstorms, tornadoes, and flash-flooding have got nothing over the mood of excitement, danger, and fascination created by a good, old-fashioned hurricane.
Sadly, "hurricane mystique" doesn't get you much of a break on homeowner's insurance.
Sigh. Why did I have to go mention something "adult-oriented" like insurance? I know! Maybe for fun we could start talking about our retirement plans or lawn care treatments! Sometimes it's just better to stick with the hazy childhood memories. Pass the chicken pastry, please.
Whether rightly or wrongly, this is the song that has been stuck in my head ever since the Weather Channel and all the news programs, national and local, began whipping up their 24-hour frenzy of chronicling of every bump, gust, drop, and whistle of Hurricane Irene's advance toward the North Carolina coast, New York, and beyond. A trek that has been days in the making and promises to be many more in the unmaking.
Because I grew up in the region where the storm has made landfall--only 15 minutes from Bogue Inlet Pier in light traffic (i.e., not summer)--I am particularly sensitive to hurricanes and the havoc they can wreak. Carol Douglas, notwithstanding.
However, I have to admit, nothing--except maybe a bowl of chicken pastry (not dumplings, you ignorant Yankee narrator!)--makes me feel more nostalgic for childhood than a hurricane. Despite all the dire warnings and potential for harm and damage, the oncoming storm engenders a certain amount of excitement and energy. As the sky grows more menacing and the winds more dramatic, everyone's pace quickens, your senses are heightened, and life seems more vivid. What happens next? How will this play out? What destruction will nature cause? Will things ever be the same again?
In the sleepy coastal North Carolina of my childhood, I was always grateful for the natural thrill brought on by the approach of a hurricane.
Then again, I never lived through a really bad one. From what I recall, way back when, in the late 1960s and 1970s, we merely had a series of indifferent hurricanes and weak-willed tropical storms, most of them just grazing the coast, dumping a lot of rain, and washing away the beach. Only later in the '80s and '90s, after I had moved away and my parents had relocated inland to the Triangle, did the storms get bad. I remember leaving home one afternoon, heading back on a plane to Texas, lucky enough to escape a particularly severe hurricane that even affected area 125 miles inland. While I was home and dry in San Antonio, my parents endured 100+ mile-per-hour sustained winds for several hours. With all the downed trees, they didn't have electricity again for more than a week. They couldn't even get out of their neighborhood, until neighbors with chainsaws started cutting through the debris to create a path to the main road.
So indulge my nostalgia at your peril. Obviously, I don't know what I'm talking about in terms of health and safety. But snowstorms, tornadoes, and flash-flooding have got nothing over the mood of excitement, danger, and fascination created by a good, old-fashioned hurricane.
Sadly, "hurricane mystique" doesn't get you much of a break on homeowner's insurance.
Sigh. Why did I have to go mention something "adult-oriented" like insurance? I know! Maybe for fun we could start talking about our retirement plans or lawn care treatments! Sometimes it's just better to stick with the hazy childhood memories. Pass the chicken pastry, please.
No comments:
Post a Comment