THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, August 18, 1995 TAG: 9508160222
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Over Easy
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: Medium: 87 lines
There is absolutely nothing that Bill and I do together that points up the differences in our approach to life any more surely than preparing for a hurricane.
He tracks the building storm by laying out enormous nautical charts of the Caribbean, the coastal U.S. and the North Atlantic; gathering all of the implements of the navigator's trade (compass, protractor, dividers, parallel rulers, some kind of special pen and a half dozen other items I can't identify) and calling our son at the Naval Research Lab to get the latest definitive coordinates.
``It sure would help if I had a real chart table,'' he moans as he covers 24 square feet of dining room table with his nautical necessities.
Four hours later, he is verifying two days of plots.
I, in the meantime, have found a map of the Caribbean (c.1492) in one of the kids' old history books, laid it out on the coffee table, turned the TV to the local weather channel, read the little figures at the bottom of the screen and aimed a magic marker at the points on the map where I calculate the storm was yesterday and is now.
``Fifty miles southwest of Bermuda, heading straight for Cape Hatteras,'' we say in unison when we run into each other in the hall.
We attack the grocery store with similar differences in style. He storms the aisles grabbing every bottle of water, can of tuna fish, package of toilet tissue, bag of charcoal and loaf of bread in sight.
I survey the freezer case and choose a couple of gallons of Chunky Monkey Double Chocolate Tin Roof ice cream.
``What are you getting that for?'' my exasperated better half asks. ``It'll just melt when we lose electricity.''
``Exactly,'' I explain. ``That way we'll have to eat it real fast while we're waiting to see if the roof holds. I can't think of a better excuse for blowing a diet, can you?''
He holds his head, rolls his eyes and we both continue with our preparations.
While he fills the gas tanks of both of our vehicles, I invest in six different tabloids, all with pictures of Hugh Grant on the cover. He wants to have enough fuel to escape town if necessary. I want to have enough sleaze reading to escape reality completely.
Home again, he walks through the garage with a detailed checklist that includes such items as plywood, masking tape, candles, lamp oil and wicks.
I dig through the attic in search of a Monopoly set and the dining room hutch in search of sacramental wine. Why? Because two other young student teachers, our landlady and I happily rode out a three day central New York blizzard in 1958 playing Monopoly and sipping Manischewitz.
I figure if Monopoly and Manischewitz can get you through a three day white out, it ought to be good enough for a daylong blow.
Having checked the storm's course, gathered his supplies and voiced his opinion of mine, Bill begins securing everything outside of the house.
He moves the lawn implements and plant pots to the garage and the deck furniture to the family room. He puts a fresh coat of mortar on a loose brick in the chimney, covers the big front window with plywood, wires the bird feeder's roof to its side walls, cleans all leaves and pine needles from the gutters and shoves the hoses and sprinklers into the crawl space and latches the access panel.
A few minutes later, I unlatch the access panel and spring Charlie the Lhasa who has wandered under the house to see what all the fuss was about.
After a short break, Bill gathers all the gear he thinks he's going to need for damage control during the storm and lines it up neatly on the counter of the interior first floor bathroom, which he deems is the safest place to be during a hurricane, flood, tornado or visit from a long-winded guest.
The array is impressive: four hammers, 2,000 nails, six screw drivers, 1,500 screws, four kinds of hand saws, 16 wrenches, a dozen rolls of assorted tapes and the two most important tools in the damage controlman's tool box - 10 different sizes and types of wire and six packs of chewing gum.
I line up my own supplies in the other downstairs bathroom: hand cream, cuticle oil, emery boards, nail files, polish remover, cotton balls and three shades of nail polish.
I figure if I'm going to be blown from here to Oz and back I don't want to do it with ragged nails.
On one thing we do agree completely, however. Together, we load our wedding album, a century or more of family pictures and 10 years of my column clips into what we consider the safest place: the trunk of the car.
Whatever else we have left if a storm should hit, we're going to be darned sure we have the most important thing of all.
Our memories. by CNB