Rock You Like A Hurricane

By now, Dear Readers, I’m sure you’ve seen the horrific images of Hurricane Helene’s massive assault on the East Coast.  Towns to the left of me, cities to my right just…drowned under an unrelenting assault of screaming wind, ceaseless rain and Biblical plague torrents of mud.

Call it Global Warming, call it Fate, call it Judgement Day, but whatever you call it, make no mistake.  It was- and is- truly terrible.

People died.  Countless homes were lost.  Millions and millions of dollars in irreparable damage – never to be made whole by any insurance plan. Even as I type this, at least 500 people are still missing in the western part of the state- some whole families.

Thousands of people will be without power for the ENTIRE winter.  And it gets cold there.

Awful.

I got lucky. My new home town was left unscathed.  It got dark in the afternoon and rained kind of hard.

For fifteen minutes.

That was it.

The rain went away, the sun came out and I don’t even remember the rest of the day. No power was out’ed. No Internet connections lost.

I think I went out to dinner later that night with a friend.

Of course, I started to see the Hurricane Helene news bulletins right away.

But I was too busy doing other to stuff to be little more than grateful that it wasn’t my house that got swept away.

This time.

I made a couple of donations at Walgreen’s and Food Lion to help the less lucky.

And that was it.

I’m sorry to say.

I just didn’t realize that this Hurricane thing was a BIG deal.

Worldwide.

My first hint came when a Chicago buddy frantically called me.

The key word here is “called.”

I do not get telephone calls any more.

Instead, I get a daily barrage of texts, emails, IM’s, FB posts, X- formerly known as Twitter- responses, and various and sundry dings, pings, snippets of “Layla” and “Hey, Baby” by Bruce Channel to let me know that someone somewhere has to ask/tell me something ASAP.

No phone calls. Too old school.

The ONLY time people call me is when someone has died.

Yep, I’m at that age now. When my phone actually rings, I automatically think “Who’s dead?”

Like Olympia Dukakis in Moonstruck when Cher wakes her up.

(Okay, this isn’t that exact scene.  I can’t find it.  But I love this movie- and this exchange between mother and daughter- so here it is.  Get over it.)

…As I was saying, a friend called. She was worried and wondering if I was okay.

I called her back and reassured her that everything here was A-ok.

Then Natasha called.

That surprised me a bit.

Natasha- full time educator, mother, wife, tutor, equestrian in the ten free seconds she gets a week- seldom if ever actually calls.

She’ll text at will but she usually calls me only if something has gone flooey on her end.

My life? Meh.  She thinks it’s “interesting” at best, madcap and unpredictable when she’s feeling charitable- and Natasha seldom feels charitable.

As I’ve said before, she’s a Boston school teacher.  Louisa Mae Alcott- but sterner.

Think this guy and you’re on the right track.

Hint: Salem Witch Trials. Ring a bell?

Natasha always wanted Betty Crocker for a mother.  Instead she got me.

Who said Life is fair?

But somehow, disappointed as she may be with having Auntie Mame as a close relation, she sighs a lot and texts me just to check in.

Not this time, though.

This time there was an actual, worried phone call.

“Are you okay? I’ve been watching the news and I wanted to check to see if you’re under water,” she said.

“I’m fine, Sweetie.  Thanks for checking.  The hurricane passed right over us here and nothing happened.  How are you guys?”

“We’re fine.  Same old same old. I’m tutoring in a minute.  Got to go.”

And that’s my cue.

“Thanks for the call, Hon.  Have fun….”

Click.

But I didn’t have too much time to wait before my phone became active again.

I’m sorry that it took this disaster, but for me, it was a reunion windfall. I heard from more people in one day than I have since I moved here.

It was wonderful to know that my existence actually was of some importance to some terrific human beings.

I was chuffed.

A few days went by and I started to head out on a long-planned trip to Newport, Rhode Island.  I had been looking forward to it for months, and by now, I was even more grateful that Hurricane Helene had come and gone and the weather for my visit was going to be picture perfect.

Take a look.

For the record, Hurricane Helene struck North Carolina on September 30.

On Wednesday, October 2- almost three days later- I got this text:

This was from my son, Nick.

Hmmm.

Three days?

How was I going to answer this?

I responded quickly.

Fine, right? No hidden agenda, accusation or sarcasm.

No comparison with his sister, no whining that it took him three days to even see if I was alive.

Nope.

Calm.

Reasonable.

A good mother.

When all the time, I was DYING to do this.

No answer at all.

Nada.

Zippo.

Niente.

Well, I missed my chance.

A daughter is a daughter all of her life.

A son’s a son…

Until a hurricane, I guess.

But knowing Nick- and hurricanes- I’ll get another crack at it.

Sooner or later.

Meanwhile, before you watch this classic clip below, can you take a minute and send a few bucks to literally bail out North Carolina?

I’d be grateful.

Thanks, y’awl.