We're outta here!

When we decided to pull up roots and move to St John, little did we know we'd have help with the root pulling. Thanks to hurricane Sandy—that bitch.
Back last summer we took the first step booking plane tickets for our return to Paradise on November first. Then we sold the house—Whooppee! As we were packing boxes and Bob was purging the garage of 20 years worth of knick knacks and bric-a-brac while Jim was filling boxes for Goodwill with clothes...and more clothes, we got the word that Frankenstorm was coming just in time for Halloween.
We spent Sunday moving the first floor furniture to the second floor and a garage full of packed boxes on top of the relocated lawn furniture—oh, our aching backs—then went to the local fire station to fill sand bags, which was a heartwarming experience. We found a huge pile of sand surrounded by volunteers helping potential victims fill bags and load their cars. Next, Jim sealed the outside of the doors with gaffer's taped and piled up the sand bags. Then we climbed in a window, packed an overnight bag and went to bed with visions of destruction in our heads. Monday we evacuated to a neighbor's house on higher ground. The day was spent watching the weather service track Sandy, and watching an assortment of movies. The wind howled, trees began to snap and fall everywhere, sewers backed up and the streets flooded. We knew the biggest danger was not rain, but the 90 mph wind and a perilous storm surge. While the weather service predicted a 12' to 15' surge along our coast of the Long Island Sound at high tide (thanks to the dual demons of a full moon and little ole Sandy), our house is only 11' above the high tide. We agonized. We considered nail biting. We had bouts of nervous diarrhea. About 9:30pm, 3 hours before the peak of the tide, we braved the flooded streets dodging fallen trees (water up to the bumpers) and slowly drove to view our house. What we saw in the headlights as the wind slammed us was a small lake which covered our cul de sac and lawn. After that we tried to sleep—ha, ha, ha!
At 7:30 the next morning we returned to discover the house's fate. There were huge trees across streets and mud, sweeps of sand and debris everywhere. The lawn was covered in tree branches, a giant one blocked the driveway. Bob climbed in the window and discovered a miracle—the house was dry. We walked around the property. Not a bit of damage. We didn't miss the irony in the fact that just 3 days before we're scheduled to head for a place known for annual hurricanes we get slammed by a hurricane. The night before our host showed the movie, The Perfect Storm. It turned out to be perfect for the occasion—all the stars of the movie drown. I was reminded that houses are replaceable, but lives aren't. That my life doesn't revolve around an escrow, but rather a guy named Bob. I hugged him tight and fell asleep. After discovering the miracle of the next morning, we were especially silly all day long. I'm certain it was not because the house was safe, but because we're safe. Living in each other.