Leading up to what would become Hurricane Sandy, a Category 1 hurricane that came and decimated the state where I grew up and essentially became me, there were lots of silly graphics showing its path. One that seemed to heavily make the rounds was one of Olivia Newton-John in the character of Sandy from Grease going from hair flipped, head-banded, kind-hearted Sandy to the fierce 70s-disco, Lycra-wearing, hair cork-screwed and wild, red Candie's slings, still kind-hearted Sandy. It gave me a giggle but really, it didn't ease my fears. After living through Tropical Storm Tomas in Barbados which kicked our asses and left us powerless and many waterless for five days (many more even longer than that) I knew there would be nothing cute and kind-hearted about it.
The Friday before the Monday storm, Didier and I began collecting supplies. Batteries, cases of water, soup, snacks for the kids (and way too many snacks for the mommy), and gas for the tank. We started charging the portable DVD players, yes players, downloading videos and games for the iPad, using and savoring the electricity. On Saturday morning, in a panic, I ran to Target to get a portable radio to find that they were sold out, and were wiped clean of all the water and C and D batteries. There were no flashlights, no tents, no lamps, lanterns, and very few coolers. I bought a cooler and six rain ponchos. We had five flashlights at home, bought as soon as Hurricane Irene had left us, because we'd been without even one when she hit. After Target I went to Pathmark, not sure for what, where I bought more Halloween candy (just in case the storm tracking as a direct hit on New Jersey somehow diverted and went out to sea and we'd be able to celebrate). There, I saw a woman buying twelve boxes of Wheat Thins. "I love them,"she told me. "And they are on sale!" Then the nervous laughter.
Of course there have been other massive hurricanes and bad storms in New Jersey's history. Just last year there was Irene. But none had the size and scope and sheer power that Sandy was bringing and most felt powerless. All the collecting and hoarding, removing Halloween decorations and tying down garbage cans, still did not provide comfort or ease the thickening air around us. By Monday, school was cancelled in anticipation. There was wind, but not much more than a typical windy or rainy day, and many said so, wishing their kids could be at school, hoping that this was all that was coming, that somehow the forecasters had gotten it wrong and that Sandy was just a little wind, a little rain. My stomach was in knots when it wasn't fluttering nervously wit butterflies. I did laundry, cleaned the house, refused to allow the kids to use the iPad, but did allow about ten hours of television, expecting the cable to go. And then we waited.
At about six-thirty we decided to head over to our friends' home on higher ground. Last year during Hurricane Irene, the creek behind our house flooded and our street was evacuated in the early morning hours in pitch blackness. I did not look forward to moving the girls during gale force winds and rain, so we got out of dodge and went a few blocks higher but still in town. We were in the house probably fifteen minutes when the power flickered and then went out. It would stay that way until...well, now. Our dear friends still have no power and I imagine that all the promises and mixed messages regarding its return are have begun to roll off their backs. They'll believe it when they see it. They are better than I. I just don't think I could do it with the girls, the cold, and the flashbacks of storms past. Such is my constitution. Our hosts, new friends, but incredibly warm, honest, and exceptionally decent, provided us all with shelter, warm beds, and good company.
While the kids went wild, having "the best sleepover ever" the adults sat at the table, opening lovely bottles of wine, falling silent only when a particularly strong gust of wind left us all with the feeling that the house might actually lift off. In the distance we saw flashing blue light and I, for one, assumed that a silent thunderstorm was also raging. Turns out the transformers in our small village were blowing one after another as trees and branches began battling with the power lines. In the darkness we could only guess what was happening out there, all of us listening intently for the sound of a crash of wood on wood that meant a tree had fallen on the house or the shattering of glass. Were it not for social media we would have been, quite literally, in the dark. News of Freehold, the town where I grew up, and other parts of southern New Jersey and the shore came in like Morse code. We got short dashes of information--power lines down, Atlantic City deluged, subway stations flooded--and envisioned the worst as we waited for pictures, all the while hoping that where we sat would not provide an equally devastating headline.
Bedtime for the kiddies was an enormous snugglefest with each tucked into a cute sleeping bag lined up like a row of princess pink and rainbow sardines and some sailboats on the end for the little brother of Lily's friend. I want to say that they were out like a light, but I was summoned to sit with mine for a little bit. Once all were fast asleep, I made my way back downstairs, where not a single adult was to be found. I could see small dots of light moving about in the night so I opened the front door to the howling wind to investigate. Walking through the yard and up the street were our hosts and my husband trying to make heads or tails of all the sounds and light flashes. Fearful of being struck by something, anything dangerous, all made their way back inside to the comfort and safety of the house.
Exhaustion came quickly, sleep less so. As I began dozing off next to the hubby, I would shudder and twitch and jolt at every loud sound, strain my ears to hear any peep from this kids' room. After hours of going in and out of consciousness, I heard Lily's whimper and went to the room to consult. A quick visit to the bathroom and a plea for me to massage her aching legs (growing pains) changed the sleep arrangements and Lily followed me to the room where her father, her little sister, and I had arranged ourselves. To prevent us from piling on top of one another, I proposed that Lily and I sleep on the floor. Virginie came down too leaving just Papa on the bed and the three ladies curled up on the floor. And even still I slept. In and out.
In the morning we all ventured out to see what Sandy had delivered. She'd come fierce and she'd come hard. There were enormous trees mangled and twisted, lying in the streets, across power lines, on rooftops, and across gardens. Power lines were everywhere. We'd been spared the expected rain and for that we were most grateful. Had severe flooding been added to the crazy mix we'd be weeks away from a return to basics instead of days. After a morning coffee and breakfast, we packed up our things and head home to see how we'd fared. As we zigzagged through our once idyllic community, absolute shock and awe struck our faces. Everything looked the same and yet completely and totally different. Our town felt vulnerable, raw, and stunned but also hopeful, motivated, and connected. The invisible lines of community began to glow like energy bands from one to another. People came out of their homes offering whatever they had, food, batteries, chainsaws, gas cans, skills and they started to immediately to try put it back together again.
As we rounded the corner to our street we saw light. Lights inside of our neighbors' homes! Our street had been spared the power outage that has disrupted most of the area. I heard music, tv's blaring, laughter. There were no downed trees, no power lines wiggling on the ground, no one outside. Just blocks away there was an eery calm, a silence, just the occasional hum of a chainsaw or just started generator. People were standing outside, staring in awe, thanking their stars the trees had fallen one way instead of another. Sandy had danced through the fun house in her tight pants all over our township, but on our street, she was still a poor man's Sandra Dee, quiet, wistful, hopeful. A wallflower.
(c) Copyright 2012. Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.
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