“Hurricane Henri!” It has a great ring, doesn’t it? Well, except they misspelled my name by one letter. “Henri” instead of “Henry”. They must have picked up on my ”Je ne sais qua”, as my French poodle, describes it.
Or it may be the National Hurricane Center’s attempt at sophistication. You can never tell with government types.
And here’s a cool point: “Hurricane Henry” is headed to Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and New York. These were among my favorite stomping grounds as a kid. I lived in two out of four and was educated in two out of four…sort of. If it weren’t for spell-check I’d still have a problem including Connecticut and Massachusetts.
I know, this sounds a little self-centered, but isn’t it better than reading about Afghanistan, Climate Change, T-Rump or Covidiots?
Speaking of Governor DeSantis, I’ve spent a lot of time in Florida over the past few years, especially during the pandemic. My Pennsylvania friends were thankful for the sudden quiet. My Florida friends…well, they’ve been looking forward to the end of the pandemic.
The last hurricane I remember hitting New England was not that big a deal, certainly nothing like Florida hurricanes. It may not have even been a real hurricane – maybe it was just a really big Nor’easter. But it sure felt like a hurricane to a 15 year old.
Despite being told to stay inside, (or maybe because of it) a friend and I decided to go outside during the height of it. We were soaked within three yards of the door. About ten yards later we noticed lots of things flying past us, including a few pieces of slate the size of serving plates, pried by the wind from the roof of the building we had exited. They flew just over our heads and imbedded themselves into a tree about thirty feet away. We stopped, looked at the tree, looked back at the roof, and ran back into the building. Whatever the record was for the 13 yard dash, we broke it.
A few years ago I moved to Florida as a “snowbird”. It seemed logical for retirees from the north. Who wants to kick snow off your shoes when you can kick sand with your toes?
“Snowbirds” stay in Florida for the winter and then go back north during the summer months, when 88 degrees is a cold front.
Florida has hurricanes. Not “maybe” hurricanes, not once-in-100- years hurricanes, but scary hurricanes…at least to wimpy Northerners. Real Floridians, like my neighbor, Cowboy Susan, do not fear Florida hurricanes.
I don’t either. You know why? They don’t have slate roofs in Florida.
Cowboy Susan tells me that real Floridians just wait those out for a few days and then, when the hurricanes leave – along with electricity – they have big, neighborhood barbeques to use up all the food before it goes bad… and the beer before it gets too warm. She says it’s really fun. Of course, because I’m a “snowbird”, I can only take her word for it.
Which is why I’m so happy to have a hurricane named after me. It’s a clear case of gaining fame – talking the talk – without having to walk the walk.
Kind of like being an armchair quarterback…Hey! Turn on the TV! It’s football season again!