Natural disasters reveal once again that men and women approach everything from opposite poles.

     As the internet, TV, and newspaper declared that hurricane Rita headed for our town, my husband would not be moved. 

"We're not going to Mama's until the mail comes on Friday.  I don't want our identity blown all over the street."

In the meantime, I took pictures off the walls, secured documents.  Sam inventoried his supply of survival gizmos.  He dug out and repaired the small portable grill.  His yellow battery charger thingie got plugged into the wall for full power. (With a car adapter, anything can be plugged into it. It can jump an automobile, too.)

I worried as the storm approached.  He grew more cheerful by the hour. I prayed the hurricane would go elsewhere, feeling guilty that I would wish it on neighbors to the east.  Sam "knew" it wouldn't hit us head on. He packed all our refrigerator contents into a  fishing cooler the size of a casket.


     The same occurrence was verified by my daughter regarding her fiance.  She was freaking; he was planning.  I fretted about our kids and the pets.  I worried that the stress would get to my mother-in-law who was not in the best of health.  The men seemed to draw upon a primitive instinct, seldom used but lying right under the surface, to protect the family at all costs. I realized with horror that on some level, they were having fun. Guys don't get to flex their Schwarzenegger muscles often, I guess. The neighborhood rang with the sound of hammers banging plywood over windows.  Buzzing chainsaws severed threatening limbs from trees as men all over who seldom got to use their power tools took preventive measure.
 Luke helped us pack the car. Sam finally consented to go across town without waiting for Friday's mail. "It's not necessary, though," he growled.

Sure enough, The storm moved more slowly than predicted.  Rita was still quite a squall when she arrived. All Sam's gadgets came in handy.  The electricity went out, and we plugged his mother's nebulizer into the yellow thing.   He grilled great burgers when the electric stove was useless.  We never did use all the huge thermoses of water, but we were prepared.  I think he was a little disappointed.

When the storm died down, we sat on the back porch with the wind howling around us, listened to the ballgame on the battery charged radio, and ate banana cream pie.  We laughed at how it felt--and even smelled- like the beach.  Without Sam, I would have been leery of sitting on the back porch, but he made it an adventure.

In this situation, I learned again why Paul called females "the weaker vessel."  I'm usually the antithesis of that statement.  Hurricanes undo my composure.  In many people, the crises provokes heroism. I saw that instinct to rescue that so many men (and women) have exercised in weather crises in recent weeks. Usually, hy hubby's gadgetry and amateur meteorology amuses and annoys me. I repent!  He can spend all our spare cash for batteries and gadgets and weather indicators that he desires from now on. I wish every woman had such a guy.  Sure, I wish Sam was more touchy-feely sometimes.  I wish he liked malls and shopping. However, in high winds, I don't need a metrosexual.  I'll take the cave man, thank you.