THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, August 26, 1995 TAG: 9508260026
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A11 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: George Hebert
LENGTH: Medium: 70 lines
Now that Felix has wobbled away, sparing us no telling what disasters, a lot of people are talking - in somewhat hyperventilated relief - about the various lessons we were taught by this hurricane's near-miss.
The point, obviously: All that careful monitoring of the big twister, all those relocations of chunks of the population, all that boarding-up and glass-taping, all those shelter openings will not have been wasted. Something useful was achieved after all: There were plenty of lessons we can use next time (which might not be very far off, what with all that continuing tropical-weather activity we're now hearing about).
Well, my wife and I are certainly among those who, as the jargon goes, had a Learning Experience.
We were among the voluntary evacuees from Norfolk when official word came that residents in certain water-vulnerable areas should get out.
We decided to head to ground just a little farther inland and a little higher than the near-river lot on which our house sits. Williamsburg became our target.
The big thing we decided, however, was to treat this emergency junket as an adventure. An adventure instead of a trauma.
Luckily, we were able (through Triple A) to reserve a reasonably priced room in the northern section of Williamsburg. Even luckier, we discovered, from the radio, that the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel was unclogged, an obvious choice for a quick flight. Getting to our evacuation destination and checking in was simple.
But the scramble to get out of our house and then various experiences during the uncertain wait up there (not knowing for one thing just how long we'd have to stay) were a bit different.
At various junctures, we found out that:
One piece of the official advice - to make sure your pets are taken care of - is less than helpful unless you happen to be clairvoyant and have started making arrangements a day or two before you have to get going. (The motel we found permitted cats, so we took our Debbie with us.)
For happy away-from-home accommodation of a cat, it's not enough to bring along food, food plates, water container and litter box. Debbie ate almost nothing and behaved like the caged animal she surely was, upset in particular by the cat she saw in the full-length mirror on the motel-room closet, by her inability to get down behind the clothes' chest drawers and by her failure to claw open the door to the hall.
We should have brought along a sharp kitchen knife (we did remember a can opener) to open food packages and cut cheese.
We had forgotten to suspend the paper.
We had forgotten about the accumulation of mail during our absence.
Although we brought along such valuables as the dress Donna had purchased for her son's wedding next month, we had forgotten a checkbook.
Although we carted along all kinds of legal and personal file folders, we had forgotten to bring the most-important documents of all for someone leaving property to the mercy of the elements: insurance papers.
In light of those last five items and a few others, my inveterate list-making had been neglected at a crucial point.
The 20-odd hours we spent at the motel (before convincing ourselves that the danger was over and heading home) was much too long a span to be cooped up with a stressed-out cat.
Overall and most chastening: We learned that merely calling our minievacuation an adventure didn't make it one. MEMO: Mr. Hebert is a former editor of The Ledger-Star.
by CNB