Surviving Hurricane Helene

Around 10: 00 p. m. next day, when fish started swimming inside my door, I knew we were in trouble. And then, in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene’s hatred and indignation, we’re digging ourselves out of the dust. &nbsp,

It looks like our loss were significant: Three totaled automobiles (!!! ), our household half-submerged, and my whole collection of valuable Picasso ‘s—all destroyed. ( Fortunately, I still have that orphanage in Fiji. Comes in handy during tax time. ) This was, by a very large ratio, the worst flood in 20 years of Florida living. &nbsp,

A African American mystic allegedly spooked Tampa Bay in order to shield us from direct storm damage. Sure, we might get sideswiped ( repeatedly ), but it’s been about 100 years since Tampa was directly hit. I

t’s interesting: After you cheat dying a few times, you often look back and consider how happy you were. Otherwise, your mental eyes in the same way, and you start to suspect that you just might be eternal. ” Hurricanes? That does n’t happen to me. That’s for everyone else to worry about” .&nbsp,

But these kinds of tragedies—death, natural catastrophe, the loss of loved ones—are essentially political. If you stick around long enough, later, it’ll happen to you, particularly in Florida. Living in the Sunshine State is like playing in a game: The longer you’re below, the worse your chances. Hurricanes do n’t recognize seniority, they’re indifferent to loyalty programs. &nbsp,

This day, our air fitness is completely die. Fridge is n’t working. Yard also submerged. No internet— I’m writing this gem with my smartphone and pointer finger (you’re welcome ). And for the next day in, like, the next six years, a cyclone hit Tampa during a Cowboys vs. Giants activity. Destroying my home is one thing, interfering with my sport watching/snacking/drinking is a bridge to much. Of course, the adjacent roads are all flooded. &nbsp,

This is, by way, the worst Tampa Bay has experienced since 1943, according to area rumors. An 80-year wind. But that’s okay, we’ll clear up and return. It’s what we do. With no a/c, it’s “hotter than a Junebug in soon July”! ( That meal hostess likes to say that ) Still, no worries: It’s a guy’s prerogative to strip down to his ( clean ) undies. And it’s virtually 10: 00 a. m. today: Perfect period for a good cold beer. Ah! If you’re innovative ( and/or immoral ), there are plenty of ways to beat the heat. &nbsp,

That does n’t mean this experience was n’t painful. It was. But sometimes pain is the entrance cost for heaven: It’s a pay-to-play world. In the meantime, the Pinsker community may be partying. Got some fresh fish to grill, we’re healthy, we’re good, and we’re together. Actually, that’s all I care about right then. But if you see any waterlogged Picasso’s floating by, please be a dear and return ‘ em ( insurance purposes ). &nbsp,

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