AKA: Bad Night, Irene
A Level Whatever (plus) disaster was moments away and coiled to strike.
On any other day, the first clue that trouble was on its way would have seemed innocent enough and ignored, but this would be no ordinary Sunday morning. Cities were being evacuated and at least one Atlantic coast governor was cursing at money-spending vacationers daring to surf on his threatened beaches. When the ridicule finally became too much and they packed up their bogey-boards, it left only a few thousand people in yellow slickers carrying foam-covered microphones and an ample supply of hair spray behind. They would have to face the terror, alone.
I lost power for no more than a milli-second, not quite long enough to reset my window air conditioner to the off position, but it sputtered for a moment, just long enough to damage my already frail sense of security.
I knew what was coming, and it would likely be the end of times.
Overwrought with fear and trepidation over the coming of the Northeast's own Katrina, I hadn't slept and was operating on pure adrenalin. Convinced it would be a better location from which to stave off the ravages of the killer winds and certain deluge, sleeping quarters were wisely relocated to the first-floor family room sofa. The family room was one floor closer to the basement, a place I would surely end up since warning tones announcing possible tornado conditions were being broadcast every five minutes on the Weather Channel. What if tornado conditions turned into an actual tornado, suddenly materializing in the form of an actual funnel over my roof? But the family room was a perfect holding area since it contained a large-screen TV and killer stereo - and emergency kitchen snacks were but a step away. If nothing else, it was an entertaining room to die in.
A box of blue-tip matches, (2) 5-gallon bottles of distilled water and three newly purchased, still shrink-wrapped flashlights were by my side along with my trusty dachshund/St. Bernard who slept while a took the first watch. The flashlights had been hard-earned in a near tussle at the supermarket earlier that day with a very senior citizen fresh off some retirement village bus and, lucky for me, not yet in possession of her sea legs. I can't over-emphasize the need for preparation in times like these. A kill or be killed attitude is also handy whenever there's an inexplicable run on bananas and frozen pizza.
The micro-black-out lasted just long enough to shut down my TV along with a replay of some Canadian Football League game from 1992, serving as a useful light source and mindless diversion from what awaited us from the skies. Now, I was forced with a decision. To restart my game/night light, do I risk reaching for the remote from the comfort of my prone position on the sofa (my dachshund was peacefully asleep on my inside arm) or just take advantage of the unscheduled dark and silence and, well, go to sleep?
In normal times (no killer hurricanes on the horizon), a 4:00 AM glitch in my electrical service would have already found me asleep, or irreversibly somnolent, and the movement required to restart a Roughriders-Stampeders game (who knew Canadians played football?) could very easily have caused me to slip from the sofa to the hardwood floor where my chin would certainly have taken a brutal blow. No doubt, a few teeth would have been loosened in the process. Additionally, a filled-to-the-brim cup of stale afternoon coffee and been repeatedly microwaved and remained perched precariously on the edge of the table. Either the shock of my fall or any incautious attempt to rise again would have surely dumped the entire contents on my head, leaving me bloodied, toothless, scalded and drenched. Worse yet, I'm an aging Boomer who hasn't had a stress test in years, so who knows what coronary "event" would have naturally followed the initial trauma?
But in more peaceful meteorological times, there would have been good news, for unlike last night, when rescue services were unavailable, during any other natural or man-made catastrophe, a call to the EMS team stationed at my corner firehouse would have evoked a response in minutes, putting Humpty Me back together, again.
An important lesson was learned from this horrifying experience, and now, I will be far better prepared to deal with the next disaster. Despite future warnings from CNN, the Weather Channel, mayors and other soothsayers of doom, when the next calamity is upon us, rather than remain cowered under some basement doorway, I plan to take a long walk down some damp boardwalk.
Moist salt air helps me sleep.
And anyway, Calgary is obviously a hockey town.