When I was a little girl, growing up in a bungalow across the street from the Passaic River in smalltown Millington, we kids loved hurricanes (of course!), especially when we lost electric power.
Daddy would bring out the kerosene hurricane lanterns and we'd all sit around the big four foot square heating vent (the only one in the house) between the living room and the dining room.
We heated with coal, so power outages didn't keep us from being warm and cooking. Yes indeed, the top of the coal furnace was just below the level of the floor. Daddy took the grate off the vent opening and Mom cooked on top of the furnace.
For us kids, power outage storms were an adventure, camping out without the inconvenience of nature.
Now I am old. I've prepared without being panicy. If things cut loose outside and fly around, well, they do. Meanwhile one of the newly fledged redtail hawks is perched on the crossbar of the steeple cross on the Catholic Church cattercorner from our house, and the other one is perched on the microwave - what are they? antennae? - on top of the office building across the street from our back yard. Calling to one another. I wonder what they are saying.
I shall announce church services are cancelled for Sunday. Better safe than have people worrying up to the last minute. Leaving me with only one worry I can't do anything about: What happens to Xena, labrador retriever warrior princess of all Norwalk, on Sunday when she has to go out and attend to business during the storm?