As South Florida braces for another hurricane (maybe), I do what I always do when a storm approaches.  I clean my house.  The way I figure it, if the house gets blown away or smashed to smithereens, centuries from now archaeologists will eventually uncover my bathtub and figure out that Scrubbing Bubbles had already been invented and that, yes, we were a civilized society.

After I clean, I go into the next phase of hurricane preparedness:  Panic.  This is the time that I take an inventory of my cupboards and refrigerator.  This is also the time I discover a wealth of food items I’d forgotten about hidden in plain sight on the door or at the bottom of my vegetable crisper, such as ketchup packets from Wendy’s, old horseradish bottles from two Passovers ago, and a Ziplock bag of something unrecognizable that I probably had intended eating at one time.  In any event, all expired foods are tossed and replaced.  I make sure I have a year’s supply of canned tuna (also good in case I run out of cat food) and I’m all set.  Next…

Since all the major networks have already gone into emergency hurricane mode telling their viewers how to prepare for The Big One, seasoned South Floridians, who are prepared 365 days a year, can bypass the local stations.  We already have our hurricane shutters or boards in place, gas in our cars, cash in hand and at least ten hoarded five gallon bottles of Zephyrhills water lining the dining room wall.  We also have about five one gallon bottles of bleach because we’ve been instructed since the beginning of time to stock up on bleach.  I’ve never quite figured out what the bleach is for since I’ve never used it, but I stock up nevertheless.  Batteries, hurricane candles and flashlights on hand, and we’re good to go.

I always get nostalgic when a hurricane approaches.  Every year on August 24th I’m reminded of our last Really Big One, Hurricane Andrew.  My husband got the house ready and left for the fire station, while I paced the floors and waited.  My parents and grandmother, who were still alive at the time and living on Miami Beach, came to stay with me and my kids.  They figured my house was safer since it was on higher ground.  They figured wrong.  The hurricane hit South Dade as you know, and Miami Beach was practically spared of any damage.  The next morning, my guests went back to their air conditioned apartments, while I stayed home with a five year old and a seven week old, and frantically ran around outside tearing down plywood boards from the windows so we could breathe in the oppressive post-hurricane heat.  For three days following Andrew, my husband was stuck at work since the Department wouldn’t let the firefighters leave their posts to take care of their own families.  Nice, huh?  For three days my five year old son and I had a steady diet of tuna sandwiches and cookies, while I drove to my ex-husband’s house in Highland Lakes (three miles to the north) to boil baby bottles and nipples for the baby since they got their power back the next day.  We also spent a lot of time at the Aventura Mall, which also had power.  Even though northeast Dade didn’t get a direct hit, our neighborhood was the last in the area to get electricity back.  I think it took about a week or so if I remember correctly.  In any event, my husband eventually came home, somehow got a generator and we slowly got back to normal.

After Andrew, we had several close calls with hurricanes but dodged the bullet.  There was one of them (I forget which) that was heading directly for us and, according to the news, we were definitely going to take the hit.  Again my husband prepped the house and went to work.  Not taking any chances, after the house was boarded up I took my kids and flew to Jacksonville to hide out until the storm passed.  We stayed up in St. Augustine and were having a blast until my mother called to tell me that the hurricane didn’t hit Miami, but was on its way up to north Florida.  Just my luck.  We cut our vacation short and headed home on the next flight out.

The next time we were threatened with a storm, my kids were old enough to help out so I decided to stay home and stick it out.  It was supposed to hit at about noon, so my husband boarded up that morning.  I sat watching cable television (no local news) and playing solitaire on the computer all day in the darkened house Waiting for Godot.  Bored to death, I started eating my way through our hurricane food and trying not to worry how many pounds I was gaining every time a doughnut jumped into my mouth.  Sometime in the mid afternoon I peeked outside and was hit with a blast of sunshine and I’m, like, WTF?  Where’s the hurricane?  I turned on the news only to find out that the hurricane skirted the coast of South Florida and turned northeast toward North Carolina and that we’d dodged yet another bullet.  And there I sat for an entire day, beating myself at solitaire, blissfully ignorant that life outside my house was going on as usual without me.  Oh, well.  Have another doughnut.

Then there was the year that the west coast and central Florida got hit by something like five storms, one after the other, while South Floridians took a collective deep breath and let it out slowly.  We dodged lots of bullets that year.

Until Wilma.  What was officially ranked a Cat 1 or 2 ended up causing so much damage in our neck of the woods, we somehow knew the meteorologists were lying about it.  That was the year we lost Taylor Park forever, losing one of our four baseball fields, and ended up really screwing with our Little League schedule the following spring.  That was also the year we handed out Halloween candy in the dark to the three brave souls out trick-or-treating that night.  That was also the year our roof finally had to be replaced.  Wilma was a nasty little bitch.

Despite our little hurricane problem, I wouldn’t live anywhere else.  I love Florida.  I particularly love South Florida.  Every winter I really enjoy watching news from around the country that show people shoveling their cars out of snow banks.  I also get a kick out of watching the New England Patriots playoff games during a blizzard and hoping Tom Brady gets sacked.  I love being able to finally turn off the air conditioner and open the windows for a cool breeze.  Ahhh, life is good here.

Back in 2006, my husband and I went to Indianapolis for New Year’s Eve and to attend the last game of the season.  The Colts were hosting the Dolphins and we were sitting on the fifty yard line on the Indy side, ten rows behind Peyton Manning’s back.  Being a Colts fan, I got all decked out in my #18 jersey and sat down next to the only Miami Dolphin fan living in Indianapolis.  His orange jersey stood out like a sore thumb.  But, I digress as usual…

While up there, we attended a car show and they were handing out these strange looking little gadgets.  I took one, examined it, and decided it was some type of weird spatula.  After I gave up trying to figure out why they were handing out spatulas at a car show, I finally asked someone what this thing was.  Imagine my embarrassment when I was told it was an ice scraper.  I’m, like, WTF?  An ice scraper?  Okaaaay.  WhatEVer.  Get me back to Florida.  STAT!

When my daughter was about twelve, she was annoyed over yet another bug she found crawling at her on the floor.  I told her that this was South Florida and we have bugs so she’d better just get used to it.  In that uniquely sarcastic tone universally used by preteen girls, she snapped at me, “UGH, bugs!  Tell me again why we live in South Florida!”  I replied, “For the weather.”  She retorted while rolling her eyes, “Oh, you mean, like, hurricanes?”

Yes, Caity.  Hurricanes.  If you don’t like it, when you grow up you can live anywhere you like.  You can move to Kansas and deal with tornadoes.  Or you can move to California and worry if the next earthquake will land you in the Pacific.  Or, you can move up north and try to figure out how to use a spatula on an iced up car window.  Whatever makes you happy.

Me?  I love the fact that I can get in my car go to Publix when I want fresh vegetables (or doughnuts) every day of the year.  I love the fact that I don’t need a chimney or have to stock up on firewood.  I love the fact that I can wear shorts and tee shirts pretty much any day I want.  Who wouldn’t love to live here?

I can put up with our bugs and the occasional hurricane.  I have a flyswatter and lots and lots of canned tuna.  You can keep your ice scrapers.  In fact, you can have my spatulas, too.  I have no use for them, either.

Let’s just hope Isaac doesn’t wreak too much havoc.  Now, pass the sunscreen and stay safe.

Stephanie Kienzle
“Spreading the Wealth”