Friday, November 2, 2007

High Wind and French Toast Warning!!1!

Perhaps you've heard that the Atlantic Coast (of which my corner of The Beach is a part) is under a "high wind warning." As of this writing. If you haven't, fresh details can be found here.
Also as of this writing, the projections are that Nova Scotia should be in our thoughts.
So the warnings are issued, and we spring into action. More than a few times at sea, we had to "batten down" for storms, and I remember one tropical storm spent on a miserable schooner. If it weren't for a hurricane, I never would have stayed in Charleston SC and fallen in love (with Charleston SC). I've sent yards down to the deck, brought down sails, bent on weather sails, stowed and secured gear that wasn't ever supposed to move, doubled and trebled lines, positioned and repositioned fenders, calmed the kids in the next slip with "You should've seen the time...This is nothin'!" stories. But since I've left the sea, a storm warning just doesn't have the same urgency. That is not to deny that preparations must be made and official warnings mustn't be heeded.
My house is the furthest from the sea I have lived since college. It's about a mile as the crow flies to the harbor and then another three or so to Buzzards Bay. I grew up feet from a "river" (that was actually a bay) and I remember a hurricane in my youth going right up that river and causing some serious damage. My mother loves to talk about the no-name storms that flooded Fall River in her youth, and turned her job at a downtown sportswear shop into that of a wilderness outfitter.
We here in/on the SouthCoast are used to making preparations for weather, so I'm nobody special. And there may or may not be a storm, but "Be Rrepared" is an apt slogan, surely. There are many rituals however, that come with that first warning. Besides taking in the lawn jockeys and pet bowls.
My favorite has always been the run to the store for milk, bread, and eggs. The hope is always that the snowstorm or hurricane or whatever will blow off safely to sea, broaden its isobars and lose its barometric menace.
Because my beloved makes some kick-ass French Toast. And we've got all the fixins.
I know I'm not the only one who picks up maple syrup right before a storm.

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