A Hurricane Party?! Leigh here: Penny Sue banged on our door at 8:30 a.m.. She was dressed, with full make-up (a first at that hour!), wanting to know if we needed anything from the supermarket for our hurricane party. (Our? Her tone suggested it was going to be at my place.) She was determined to beat the crowd before all of the toilet paper, Vienna sausages and Snickers were sold. (Don’t ask, her logic escapes me.) Penny Sue had already dispatched Rich to the liquor store for a case each of wine and champagne. I didn’t want to admit that Ruthie and I had purchased supplies the day before when Hurricane Irene was expected to actually make landfall in Florida. Since Penny Sue can’t stand to be wrong, I fibbed and said I’d go to the store later because I hadn’t finished making the list for my hurricane box.
As Penny Sue spun out of the sand parking lot in her new Claret-colored Jaguar, I resumed filling small mixing bowls with water and putting them in the freezer. We learned from the three hurricanes chronicled in MURDER IS THE PITS that blocks of ice last much longer than the store-bought variety. As I amassed a stockpile of ice, Ruthie and Guthrie sat on the edge of the living room sofa glued to the Weather Channel. When it became apparent that beach erosion would probably be our major issue, the two snatched a camera and raced to document the state of our Atlantic Ocean beach that had repaired itself with dunes and lush vegetation since 2004. This is one of the pictures they snapped. Fingers crossed the sea oats, railroad vines and sea turtle nests will be there after the storm passes.
Gotta go. Penny Sue’s huffing down the hall with a load of something, and there was an earthquake in Virginia. Virginia?! Irene is supposed to strike there. Heavens, what’s going on? Is the world really going to end in 2012 with the Mayan calendar? —Leigh
