The Worst Time of Year

I love living in Miami. But my least favorite time to be here is right now -- late Summer -- the height of hurricane season.  The storms themselves are one thing, but the time leading up to them is worse. My late friend Alan coined a wonderful neologism: tensosity.  It applies perfectly to waiting for the storm.

The media loves it -- ratings soar, as the market hungers for pictures and stories of stern faced politicians telling us how to prepare, and idiots on line at Publix buying bread and peanut butter.

Ultimately, the things concern but don't scare me. We rode out Andrew, the mother of powerful storms, and realized it's clearly survivable.  The scary part was having babies with us, and what seemed at the time a fragile, elderly Mom. She was 72 -- less than a decade older than Wifey is now.

Anyway -- two years ago we had a joyful time -- D1 and Joey's wedding -- and then had to flee Irma. Irma was unusual -- forecast to come up the whole state like a bowling ball in a lane, and so we packed up the newlyweds and three dogs and decamped to Marc and Edna's in Atlanta. The storm weakened -- only downing trees and cutting power, and ended up following us. D1 and Joey's power was restored quickly, and then Wifey and I stayed at two different hotels awaiting power restoration in our leafy 'hood.

Our losses, including minor roof damage, tree removal, and "loss of use" exceeded $10K, but was a tax deduction. That deduction is now removed, thanks to Trump reform -- I'm glad I got to claim it when I did.

Last year there were no threats. And this summer was the same -- until now. Dorian now lurks.

The immediate effect was a looming cancellation of the Rolling Stones concert -- a show we've had tickets for a long time. It was supposed to be in March, but aging Jagger had a heart valve fail, and so it was postponed. It was moved to tonight, from Saturday, so we'll be going -- driving up with Loni to fetch Mike Downtown, and then meeting more friends at the stadium. It'll be a nice respite from the tensosity of Dorian's approach.

As for the storm itself, the last forecasts show it hitting north of Martin County. That's good news for us -- being South of landfall in this one means the water gets pushed away from the coast -- minimizing flooding.

Post Andrew, I initiated Dad protocols for storm season. Number one is that if we're in the path of a Cat 3 or higher storm -- we leave. Cat 1 or 2 aren't too bad -- but if I lived north of Broward, I'd be on the road now.

The other protocol is having full gas tanks during storm season -- to avoid the gas station lines if number one protocol comes into play.

D1 and Joey live in a concrete bunker of a house. We watched them build it -- impact glass, and rebar everywhere. So they're hunkered down. The only problem is if the storm hits Miami -- they live in a Zone B, which means they should evacuate in a Cat 2 or higher. Ah -- my son in law -- he made reservations at a hotel inland, near MIA, just in case. It's a hotel with a generator and is dog friendly, so they can decamp if needed.

We're in  Zone B, too, and it appears I will have to slide shut the shutters tomorrow. I have some panels, too, but they're pretty east to install.

Our likely issue is losing power, even in tropical storm force winds, and yesterday I booked a room in a hotel in the Grove, also with a generator, which can be canceled last minute, too. So if we're spared a direct hit, but lose power, I get to spend some time in a gorgeous bar called the Commodore, which I saw when we visited the hotel apartment hunting for D2 and Jonathan.

I have a portable generator, which would power one A/C, a fridge, and one room above the garage, but I never used it and don't intend to start. At my age, a nice hotel is much more alluring than trying to sleep with a noisy beast going all night.

Of course, if Miami Dade takes a direct hit -- all bets are off. Misery will ensue. That looks unlikely, of course, but it does bring the aforementioned tensosity.

So first thing's first. When the rain subsides today, I'll get out my trusty wagon, and deliver the storm panels around the house, for quick installation tomorrow. If Dorian jogs north, it'll just have been an addition to the exercise regime I have begun.

Then, in the afternoon we'll fetch Loni, and head up to Downtown, and then to Joe Robbie, to see the guy who sang he was BORN in a crossfire hurricane. Hopefully it'll be a good omen.

So we'll get through this, of course. When Wifey and I married, we said we would provide shelter for each other from the storms of life -- borrowing from Dylan. Hopefully that won't become literally true in the coming days.