Bunker Hunkering

When my mother passed away, I had to decide whether to keep her house or to sell it.  It didn't take long to figure out that my heart wasn't going to let me sell it, so we moved forward with the only other option of keeping it.  And, not surprisingly,  holding on to mom's house involved quite a bit of work.  In Florida near the coastline, many of the choices regarding upkeep and care weren't simple. A few were fun, like converting the house from white with black trim:

to roasted squash (yes, that's orange) and cream trim:

You can't get away with those colors in most areas of the country, but in Florida, almost any color goes.  So, orange it was. Pumpkin had arrived!

Other decisions were more serious, like how we were going to protect this cute little house from hurricanes.   The original windows were out of the question.  Not only did they put the house structurally at risk during high winds, but they leaked enough air conditioning to make Duke Energy even more wealthier than they already were.  At the time, it made perfect sense to get hurricane windows (windows that theoretically could withstand projectiles hurled at them at speeds of up to 165mph).   There was no guarantee that we would be there to board up the windows or to install storm shutters, so the windows seemed like a wise solution.

Until the hurricane came and we found ourselves at Pumpkin, preparing her other vulnerabilities for what seemed to be a direct hit from a nasty hurricane whose name doesn't need to be repeated.  Then, we realized there was no way, no how we were going to sit inside a house with the windows uncovered staring at all hell breaking lose outside.   I completely missed the threat to mental health and stability posed by bionic windows that needed no visual barrier to perform their protective function.   

So, when the hurricane knocked, we left.   We stayed with friends, several miles further inland, who had boarded up their house with the type of custom made, perfectly fitted boards, that turned a comfortable middle class home into what felt like the perfect bunker, despite still being above ground.   

Shortly, before the storm hit its peak near midnight, the power went out, lines stripped away by wind and trees, transformers popping like Redenbacher popcorn on steroids in the microwave.   With the house in total darkness, except for a minor plethora of flashlights, there was little to do but talk or listen to the wind outside.   Some go to sleep during hurricane winds.  I was not going to be one of them. I get a little distracted by strong winds, falling trees, and other accoutrements associated with the standard hurricane process.   

I lay in bed, imagining I was one of those people who could sleep peacefully through a hurricane.  I listened to the wind, loud but not threatening, as little of the full force made it past the perfectly fitted hurricane shutters.   I thought of Pumpkin, the house we had left behind that was now alone in what was now a ghost (neighbor) hood, a couple of blocks from the coastal waters.   

Turning my thoughts away from the what ifs and the what nexts, I stared up at the ceiling, trying to focus my attention on the immediate sensations associated with bunker hunkering.   The wind whipped the boards outside the windows, the noise amping up a notch with the 90 mph or so gusts above the more subdued, 80 or so mph sustained winds.   The sound was a cross between a quiet howl and a whistle.  The softness of the sound, while comforting, provided no accurate sense for what was going on outside.   

I looked out into pitch darkness that was now the ceiling and the air in between. I didn't feel my pupils expand, but rather felt the sensation of cold on the surface of my eyes.  As I kept my eyes open longer, seeing absolutely nothing in the darkness, my eyes continued to feel colder and colder, until I shuttered my eyelids to take away the disconcerting shift in temperature.   

With eyes closed and sounds muted, I did what I thought was not possible.  I slept. 

Soundly.   In a pitch black, muted, above ground bunker that felt like the safest place in the world to be, wholly impervious to the storm thrashing outside.