A whole lot of nothing and that's OK

After 48 hours of non-stop media hysteria (trust me when I tell you that it was wall-to-wall coverage), Hurricane Sandy arrived in this, our little corner of New England.  We are fortunate enough to not live on the coast and so we were spared the shrewish Sandy's angry, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, fury.  Instead we got this:

Nothing. And a whole lot of it.

We were ready for the worst.  The Boy and I had the garage converted into a storage area for all our deck furniture.  The generator had been tested, charged, and ready to go.  We were prepared.  That part of the hysterical media's message we did heed.  Sunday came and so did Sandy and for us, what happened? There was some rain, but nothing dramatic.  There was wind, but not a lot of it.  Sure it howled occasionally but we've experienced far worse. It seemed for a second during one of the howls that things might get interesting, but alas, no.  After all the hysteria, a little part of you kind of wished something did happen.

Then we woke up Monday to the coverage of what had happened in Jersey and New York City. All you wished for now is that your friends in Jersey and NYC were going to be OK. I'm just sick about the destruction, the impact on people's lives, and am in scary awe of nature's unequaled power.  To quote my mother, "Oh my hat!"

So am I ever glad we got served a whole lot of nothing.  I am secretly glad that I didn't have to fire up that generator.  I feel pretty firmly that I would have wound up blowing up the house had we really needed to use it. I am really grateful for the myriad friends and family who reached out to see if things were OK in the Den during the Sandy debacle.  How grateful I am to be able to report that all is well.  Our prayers are now extended to those who didn't escape her wrath.  It's going to be a tough recovery.

Hunkering Down

For those of you currently living under a rock or who are fortunate to not have access to the Weather Channel, you've not heard about Sandy, a late season hurricane whose eyes appear to be squarely set on our neck of the New England woods.  Sandy has been described with equal parts somberness and delirium by the local weather hysterics as the following:

Epic!
Monstrous!!
Frankenstorm!!!
The Perfect Storm!!!!

If my years of living in Florida are any indication, Sandy will be none of these things. Every hurricane I rode out in South Florida was a big old bust.  I hope Sandy will prove the same.

However, if she doesn't, thanks to the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and her wicked organizational skills, we here in the Den are ready for Sandy's arrival.  We tested the new generator this morning and it started immediately.  I did have to go down to the local Ace to ask one of the extremely harried salespeople where I'm supposed to set the generator up.  After he looked at me like I had two heads, I quickly explained I was new to the area and never had need for a generator before.  He made it clear that I needed to leave it outside, regardless of the weather, once I had it fired up and going.  He started to give me a lecture on the perils of carbon monoxide but I assured him I was aware of said dangers. I've got more oil for the generator as well as several gallons of gas. We're ready there.

I had to stop at the grocery store for one last item for the "hunkering" and that was additional amounts of Diet Coke and Coke Zero.  This was critical.  How can we be expected to ride out some crazed hurricane without said beverages? Based on the gutting the store was taking, it looks like a lot of people were not ready at all for the impending cataclysm.

I get it.  We've heard all the stories from those folks who lived here last year and endured another late season shrewish hurricane (Irene).  No power for eleven days.  Not good, so the simmering hysteria is merited.  It is, however, being fed by a nutty local media.  The local NBC station is running a maudlin, gooey sweet commercial of their coverage of last year's storm and reminding all their viewers of how they were there for us last year and that they'll be there for us this year.  It is cloying and more than a little ridiculous.

So we'll see what the next few days bring.  Like I said, I'm leaning toward my previous experience with hurricanes and that this is going to be a whole lot o'nothing.  In the meantime, we in the Den will do as instructed above:  Keep Calm and Hunker Down

I probably shouldn't admit this

The Den is my place to say what I want.  There's no safe word here as it my space and I've had plenty to say over the last few years.  In some cases, I've said more than I probably should, but that's rarely stopped me in the past.  And yet I've gone back and forth on whether I should admit this:

Just Dance 4, people, deal with it

I didn't realize that Just Dance 4 has been unleashed on an unsuspecting public and I could not be more excited.  CAL texted me earlier tonight that she and her roommates had just picked it up.  I called her and she was full of breathless abandon about the awesomeness of said game.

That I am in the full graying, bi-focal contacts with readers on top of that horror of middle age and that I am more than excited about this game is equal parts pathetic and terrifying.  I documented our fun with Just Dance 3 in my December 31, 2011 post.  On one of our last nights in Chicago, we played JD3 with friends for several hours.  You don't look at life the same after you've watched your friend Greg bust it out to "California Gurls."  You just don't. Just looking at the JD4 playlist promises for more full-body seizures disguised as dance moves. They Might Be Giants!  Panjabi MC! and Rick-Rolling with the 80's Ginger Poster Boy, Rick Astley.  Oh, the awfulness. It's going to be awesome.

I should be completely ashamed of myself, shouldn't I?  I couldn't dance 30 years ago when it mattered and dance is one of my 'skills' that has decidedly not improved with age.  But what is life if not to have fun?  So what if I'm going to embarrass myself about this.  There are far worse things in life. Far, far worse.

The stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I have been trying to carve out some time to break out version 3 again.  Now we have to ramp up for the coming train wreck that is JD4.  Good times ahead, people, good, good times.

And then the note got passed

Yesterday, the Boy and I volunteered to help clean up the yard (note to self - if I get to the point where I have more than one abandoned vehicle on my property, it's time to move, or set fire to things) of an elderly couple who worship with us at church.  It was an absolutely gorgeous fall day and a good way to spend a few hours on a Saturday morning.  While we were driving home, the Boy asked me a few things about college life and I got to reminiscing about how I would go back to those days in a heartbeat.  I loved every minute of my college experience and regretted nothing.  Except the following:

Living in what was then known as 'Condo Row' (today it qualifies as a tenement) in Provo, we'd gotten very tight with our neighbors.  One of them, a cool girl from Salt Lake City, had made the decision to go on a mission and so a slew of us, including my roommates and the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML, drove up to SLC for her farewell.  Now this was back in the day when the farewell was a two day affair (open house the night before, farewell talk the next day, and another open house after that).  We decided, as I recall to only show up for the farewell.

So here we were at a chapel in SLC, a slew of young twenty-somethings, assembled to hear our friend speak about the experience upon which she was about to embark.  Now you have to remember that when my roomates, A. and M. and I got together, typically there was a lot of laughter, some tears, and somebody walked away offended (I give you the audience of a late showing of "A Fish Called Wanda" in Orem, UT who stormed out because of our laughter as evidence).  Anyway, as I recall, the mighty fine SML was seated next to me as a buffer (little did she know that it was during this meeting that the 'stunningly patient' title would be born) between the three of us.  Shortly before the meeting started a woman and her daughter sat down in front of us.  The daughter was adult-aged but clearly was developmentally disabled.  Because the three of us were idiots, this would prove our undoing.

As the meeting began and progressed, the young lady in front of us began to make guttural throat clearing noises.  As the meeting progressed, the noises grew louder and, well, chunkier.  As I noted earlier, because the three of us were young idiots, we started snickering about what was going on.  The mighty fine SML shot more than a couple of disapproving glares, as did a couple of the other girls that were with us.  However, we were not to be deterred.

In timing that Hollywood could not have scripted, three things converged at once: our friend was hitting the spiritual acme of her talk, the girl in front of us reached thunderous heights with her snorting, and M. passed the following note to A. and I:

Do you want a fork with that?

We tried to not laugh audibly.  We could only stifle the laughter by what must have looked as though we were have full-body seizures.  I can't recall who finally lost it first but one of us did and the laughter was loud and noticeable.  And it also became uncontrollable.  In what I'm sure was a flash but felt like an eternity, the three of us stumbled over those seated next to us, like three people fighting to escape a fire in a theater, to get out of the chapel.  We could not have been more obvious.  Or awful.  Really, truly awful.

I'm the first to admit that it took us awhile to stop laughing once we got outside. We wisely chose not to go to the open house after the meeting ended. Besides, I was getting a flight to Dallas that afternoon anyway.  That was probably a good thing.  To say that the mighty fine SML was displeased was an understatement.  Yet somehow, she managed to find it in her heart to forgive me and still marry me.  This would not be the first time she'd have to endure my poor judgement.  Hence, the 'stunningly patient' title.

I really do regret this one.  It really was bad form on our part to be laughing at this girl (good grief, it's not like we were a bunch of 5th grade boys...or were we?).  I feel bad about the farewell and the ruckus we created.  So, Sister JF, if you read this, I'm sorry.  Really sorry.

However, is it bad to admit that nearly every time I see a fork, that darn note still comes to mind?  Thanks, M.  You played that one well.