Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Saturday -- the Day before Hurricane Irene

That whole day Saturday
I felt like the second little pig.

I knew there was something else I had to do.
But I didn’t quite know what it was.
And I don’t think I would have had the time to do it anyway.

I worked very hard to live in a secure home.
But had I really done it?
Or did I have a house of wood?
Like the second little pig.

My favorite American –
I even live in a building called the “Abraham Lincoln” –
Was born in a log cabin – a small house of wood.
But of course, by the time the President was my age, he was living in a slightly fancier place in Washington.
Maybe I should seek out another place to live.
A little late for that now.

*****

I was already out of town. On Thursday, we left Cape May --- a few hours before the Governor gave the evacuation order. In case of a hurricane, I told my 5-year old daughter, I’d rather that we be at home amongst our own toys. We heard the Governor on the radio after we were over the Outerbridge Crossing and while we were stuck on the 440. “Don’t just react,” he told us, in the same tone taken by countless gym teachers I had ignored, “Don’t just react. Think.”

A little late for that now.

I was already back in the City that Never Sleeps.

By the time I thought. By the time I realized that the Third Little Pig had probably gone off to Cleveland to sit out the hurricane, Amtrak was sold out. Or maybe he had gone off to the Riviera. The Riviera was a little expensive, but perhaps I could get to London. Or even Chicago.

A little late for that now.

The City that Never Sleeps had shut everything down and turned off the lights.

So here I am, the Second Little Pig, in his wood house, wondering just how big the Big Bad Wolf might turn out to be.

*****

I did everything the Office of Emergency Management told me I should do:

(I’ll skip most of these details, you’ve been through all this yourselves.)

We made “go bags” – in case the wind blew in the windows, the rain flooded the building (as it has before) or the lights went out. We made “go” bags in case we had to go -- quickly in the middle of the night. Like Grandpa leaving Russia in the middle of the First World War.

Instead of feeling adult and heroic for preparing so well, it feels as if the very act of preparation is an admission of defeat. As if I am creating the circumstances that will lead to losing my home.

*****

Maybe if I do nothing.
Maybe if I tempt fate to come and get me.
Maybe fate will get shy and huff and puff
And blow down something else.


But first I fill the bathtub.