Determined as a school of salmon swimming up stream to spawn, Floyd made his way across the Atlantic--aimed at Ft. Lauderdale. The storm never reached us, yet it left a strong impact on my mind.  

We'd been watching its approach for days on the weather channel--faithfully recording its coordinates on our hurricane map (supplied yearly by our neighborhood Publix supermarket).  The closer it got the more jittery we felt.  Since Hurricane Andrew, evacuation areas had been extended from the coast, leaving us well within the designated area.  No problem with Andrew.  Our young friend lived out of the zone.  "Come stay with me," she'd said.  Since then, she had passed away. What will we do this time? Where will we go?  Shelters were being offered in nearby schools, but were we up to camping out on a gymnasium floor with a room full of strangers?  We went to bed with those questions filling our minds.   

Morning arrived with Floyd trailing close behind.  We made up our minds at last.  A quick scan of the Florida AAA book and a call to Naples on the west coast, produced the last available reservation--a suite at the Best Western Motel.  Even though it was more expensive, I secretly rejoiced at the suite part, knowing my husband's detestation of small quarters.  I left orders for a late arrival.  We still had lots to do.  

First on the list: hurricane shutters.  Beastly things.  Heavy. Numbered for individual windows.  Needing a heavy hand or an electric screwdriver.  It was summer and hot.  My husband is not young.  Not as young as the man across the street who took pity on two seniors and offered to help--freeing me to carry patio chairs to the garage, cover the pool filter, bring in the garbage dumpster, do back ups on my computer.  Shall I roll up our Oriental rug and get it off the floor?  Cover my computer?  Put my back-up discs in the freezer?  Do we have enough water?  Do I have time to shop for more tuna and canned fruit?  Why didn't I go earlier?  Shall I bring some food along?  And speaking of tuna--I'd better make the guys some lunch.  

A steady clank, clank followed them around the house as they maneuvered the heavy aluminum shutters.  Darkness followed inside.  I felt trapped.  

Several hours later--shutters attached, bags and cooler packed, water, water heater, coffee pot, computer turned off--we waved to Ed, working on his shutters, and headed west on Alligator Alley.  A steady stream of traffic accompanied us at a steady pace--all fleeing Floyd.  

"No empty rooms in town," the motel clerk said as we signed in.  We felt thankful for our spot.  As I settled in, my husband went to check out the adjoining restaurant.  Suit and ties required.  At a motel restaurant?  We weren't prepared for that.  But they said to come on over, they'd put us in a corner out of sight.  And they did.  At least I looked halfway decent in my dress.  By the next morning Floyd had veered north from Ft. Lauderdale, but we decided to make sure, and stayed another night.  It gave us a chance to explore the Naples area, something we had never done.  

Home again on day three, we set about reversing our preparations.  Removing shutters from the vital windows, leaving some up.  The season wasn't over yet.  Crabby and let down from being on a high so long, the dust and grime from the shutter project, irritated me enough to hose down the patio and give the furniture a good cleaning before putting it back in place.  Plenty of clean water.  

Next morning when I took my bath, the water seemed quite tepid.  By dishwashing time I realized the heater wasn't working.  Had turning it off done it some harm?  Had the hurricane left us with a problem after all?  

A new water heater was recommended by the plumber.  That was Friday.  No delivery until Monday.  A whole weekend of tea-kettle baths and dish washing.  Treks through the house toting scalding water.  When it comes to cleaning--bodies or clothes--there's nothing like good hot water to open the pores.  I began to complain, "Such inconvenience."  

"Be glad we have water," said my husband.  

And yes, I recalled that after Hurricane Andrew tap water was contaminated in many areas for several days.  Yes, I should be thankful.  I thought about my reaction again recently when we saw the movie, "Shower."  It depicts a family in a drought-torn area of China, going from farm to farm, trading bowls of much needed grain for bowls of water.  Not for their sustenance, but to fill a bath for their daughter's wedding preparations as prescribed by their tradition.  And I had complained about lukewarm water?  

Somewhere I read that giving thanks in the midst of sickness or trouble is the best medicine.  Like the hot water with bodies and clothes, giving thanks opens the pores of our perspective and gets rid of the dirt.  I had much to be thankful for in connection with Floyd: a house untouched, clean water, a kind neighbor--and two nights off from cooking.  

Author's Biography

Cherise Wyneken is retired from teaching and raising four children.  

She lives with her husband in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and has enjoyed sharing her prose and poetry with readers through a variety of journals, periodicals, and anthologies, plus her books of poetry, "Touchstones" and "Seeded Puffs."

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