Camping Out with Irene

“Will the drama never cease!” I exclaimed as I watched the Weather Channel. In RVA hurricanes are part of our summer weather, violent as they are. For days the hype built. Irene was huge, strong and getting bigger with each telecast.

The reporter was standing in surf in front of the Red Neck Palace in Kill Devil Hills. This beachfront cottage has been falling in the ocean for 12 years, at least. Hurricane Irene was on the way. At 14 mph she moved at my speed and there was plenty of warning to get to the grocery and stock up.

“It’s raining here.” Mary said. “I’m staying and riding Irene out. Stores are closed. Home Depot is open still. Oh, CNN interviewed my husband and it should be televised soon.” She continued. As we talked the TV flashed to Nags Head where Mary lives. Irene was arriving.

Irene was a big gal – as wide as Europe. Rain and wind projections and past experience said water would come in my house. For the first time in 18 years my house was empty – not one stick of anything, except sheets and towels, remained. “That’s all I need to stay at Sugar House – where life is sweet. I’ll camp out. The power never goes out. I can cook on the gas stove and take a hot shower. This’ll be an adventure.” I thought. My hurricane ready kit included projects to do sans electricity (in case power goes out), a good book, towels for mopping water, candles, matches, beach chair, health bars, chocolate and lots of diet coke.

The rain fell in torrents. The wind howled. I watched from each window while wiping up water blown through the sashes. Sheets of rain flew by. Blossoms on the crepe myrtles and flowers were blown off hours ago.  The wind made eerie noises as it screamed by the front door.

Final cleaning to ready Sugar House for the next resident was my second priority, behind mopping up water.

“Just heard a tree’s down by your new house.” Wanda said. Thank heavens for cell phones. “Just saw it on Ch. 12. Thought you’d want to know."

Irene’s screaming winds and banging rain provided background sounds to the chat with my new neighbor I’d met the day before. “Yes, the tree fell. It’s on the other side of my house – well away from yours.” Alice volunteered. “I’ll call you if I see anything happening at your place.”

Lights flickered. “Is this it? Daylight’s fading. I better find the candles and matches now. “ I decided.

Ready for the worst I relaxed in my beach chair, watched wind-blown rain dance off the buildings, saw trees sway and connected with children and girlfriends, while sipping a Starbuck’s, brought in and reheated to make this adventure civilized. If I’m camping, I want all the luxuries.

Darkness fell. Sitting under the lone overhead light, I read, drank wine, and nibbled my dinner.

Perfect evenings end when it’s time to mop water and fix my bed – pads and layers of sheets piled on the floor on top of each other. As I crawled in, the floor got hard. As I settled under the covers, it got harder. My bones got sharper.

“And my children used to sleep like this! No wonder they were awake half the night.” I thought. “This sucks. Life here isn’t sweet now. I don’t do floor sleeping. What were you thinking! I can drive to my new house and that comfy bed would feel so fabulous. But it’s raining. I don’t know where trees are down or if the highway is open. I hate being out in driving rain. I’d better stay here. I can do this. Good night, Irene.” I said.

I must've slept as I woke to a breathtakingly beautiful morning.  The clearest blue sky highlighted with pink puffies was my first sight. The quiet was almost deafening. Irene was gone. All was well. The drama had ceased.

With love on your 111th Birthday, Aunt Kate

      “You’re wearing a path through my yard. You’ve got to stop that. “ Aunt Kate sternly said as she stopped me in my tracks on the way to second grade.   Her yard was half way between home and school, a path walked almost daily.  Filled with fear and trembling, I said “Yes, ma’m.  I won’t do it again.”  On my way I went, thinking “When is she gone so she won’t catch me again?”
      Aunt Kate was a large woman with a strong voice.  Married to my mother’s brother, Aunt Kate was a solid Christian, the first woman elected to the governing body of her church when women were more silent than heard.  She was my god mother, a role she took seriously.  And she was the woman who most positively influenced me and truly loved me.
      Knowing how crazy my family was, she gave me glimpses of a sane, loving world.  She bought me my first new tennis racket, replacing the hand-me-down racket from Mother’s teen years.   With her I experienced my first airplane ride  -  all the way across the country. We were visiting her grandchildren, cousins who were my age.  On that flight I sat by the window, taking in the scenery, spellbound by huge flat fields, glacier covered mountains and the Grand Canyon.  I don’t think I moved a muscle.
      The entire summer was spent experiencing life in Silicon Valley.   There were strawberries to pick; the chilly very salty Pacific Ocean to wade in; a swimming pool for daily splashing and cousins to hang out with.  I didn’t want to go home.
      Eight weeks at Camp Alleghany in the West Virginia hills were heaven.  Another whole summer away from home was better than good.  Home sick was never in my vocabulary.
      When my parents went away for months, I got to stay with Aunt Kate.  These were the times I got As at school.   The routine was rigid, centered on doing homework and all that makes A students.  She was so authoritarian I didn’t want to know what any consequences were so I always followed her rules and life was good.
      I never really got how special Aunt Kate was until she and Uncle Garland moved to Westminster-Canterbury, where you could live and be cared for ‘til you died.   She wasn’t going to be a burden to her children in declining years, as she experienced taking care of her father in his decline.
      Born in 1900 she delighted in telling every and anyone how old she was.  On her 90th birthday the whole clan, 60 strong, gathered from across the country to honor her.  Many of the nine girls named Katharine after her were there.  My daughter is K8.
      When my marriage ended, I dreaded telling her, fearful she would be disappointed in me.  Again she wanted to provide for me.
      Aunt Kate began to slow down after Uncle Garland passed away.  Soon she gave up leading Stretch-&-Tone for sister residents and her church activities.   Failing health and memory took her to assisted living where she lived in a room with familiar furniture and a hospital bed.
      I took her to see my new home, bought with her blessing.  I dreaded telling her son and the infirmary team that she’d fallen on the stoop and skinned up her shin badly.  Luckily nothing was broken. When I told her son about it, he said she was always klutzy, another little known fact. 
      Faithfully I visited her, noticing each time how much thinner and frailer she was, how  little she asked and how much I loved her.   One visit was unforgettable.  Aunt Kate was sitting in her favorite chair with her half eaten lunch on the tray before her.   When I asked about her meal, she said “I’m waiting for the train to come.   It slows down so I can pass my tray though the window to them and the poor people on board will have something to eat.”  She didn’t mind if I waited with her until the train came.
      After I left, I had to pull the car over and park while I wept with a broken heart.  My precious fairy godmother  Aunt Kate, whom I loved dearly, was gone.  The woman who really, really loved me had been stolen by dementia.

What's Going On Isn't What You Think Is Going On

      I was feeling overwhelmed. My book Smart Women Make Their Own Rules was in its final stages of printing, plans were underway for signings and there wasn’t enough of me to go around.  How was I going to manage all that and a relationship too? 

      “I’m in his sights, I know it.  I just don’t know what I want to do.” I told Smith.  “This is going faster than I thought.”   

      “So why are you resisting what’s happening? He’s offering you what you want. What’s going on?”Smith asked.   

      When feeling out of control, I resort to getting order by making order out of chaos.  An energy zapping messy office bookcase was the target.  At completion many books were stacked up to go to Goodwill, notebooks were tossed and old journals were set aside for my old journal ritual. 

      Journaling is a marvelous tool. I started the practice when my marriage was falling apart, life was too painful and I was at my wit’s end.   As life changes, journal pages fill and they rest on a shelf until ritual time. The ritual is quite simple: I burn each page, scattering the ashes in a special place in my garden.  

      In the cover of darkness, I sat in my garden and watched flames consume each page.  One page was different with columns on it vs. the paragraphs that cleared my head.  “Hmm, I’d better set this one aside and read it later. It looks too different.” I thought. 

      In the light of my cozy room I read the set-aside page. It was titled My Man – 2004.  In two columns were lwords - the values and traits I wanted in my man.  As I read it, I was awed.   I couldn’t believe it!  I wrote it in ’04 and here I am in 2011- reading each word that described Admiral.  

      “So why am I hesitating?”  I ask myself.  “Smokie, you don’t feel like you deserve this guy.  Look at your self esteem.  You asked for this man and here he is.  You are so worthy of this guy.  Get over yourself. “