Items

• 2020-01-09

  THE19 (Metaphor)

  Imagine a hurricane approaches your beachfront community, a beautiful place of both cottages and mansions on heavenly stretching strands of sand and coconut trees. The storm started far out in the ocean as a tropical storm, an abstraction a week or more away. Then it developed into a category 2 as it approached the continent and crossed Cuba, still days away but becoming a concern. Before long, forecasts by experts confidently showed exactly where landfall would occur, the strength of the winds, the height of the surge, the flooding that would accompany it, the millions it would impact, the estimates of the extent of damage and disruption (and death tolls) predictable. You do the right thing and with your family and neighbors evacuate and move inland and find safe shelter. It’s inconvenient and uncomfortable at times, sharing and aiding your fellow refugees. They don’t have the brand of cereal and chocolate milk your kids like. They run out of Coke. But pitching in until it’s safe to go home seems the best and only course. And soon you’re glad you did because by the time the hurricane makes landfall the news come in that it is a Cat 5, indeed, “the second most intense tropical cyclone on record to strike the United States.” Imagine as you watch the pummeling rain and listen to the ominous wind and wait, you already know this story: “In 1969, Hurricane Camille claimed 259 victims along the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Most were guilty of only being on the wrong place at the wrong time, unlike twenty who perished while attending a beachfront “hurricane party” beer bash and barbecue. Despite evacuation warnings delivered by vehement emergency teams [experts], their festivities continued unabated. The partygoers definitely declared that the concrete foundations and the second floor location of their party provided plenty of protection from the impending hurricane. Their confidence proved to be tragically misplaced when a twenty-four-foot wave slammed into the apartment, destroying the building and subjecting the partiers to gale-force winds and violent ocean surges. Most of these hurricane worshippers were killed. A few survivors were swept miles away, ….” (The Darwin Awards, 1999) Imagine you know there are old folks in your very own town who chose to stay. Folks who just couldn’t imagine leaving the idyllic homes in their idyllic locations where they have lived in for decades, and who have weathered previous storms and thinking this one too “isn’t that bad,” or thinking. “Unless it has my name on it, it won’t get me.” You pray for them. But you also know some who stayed defiantly, the young and strong, and the middle-aged but “free” who resented being told by anyone what to do--especially by “experts.” And some of those protestors (an alarming number of whom you know) raised the bar, rebelled blithely, partying practically on the beach, posting selfies and videos on Facebook as the storm intensifies--to prove it was safe. As final proof, a video is posted of an engorging wave, a wave as large as any building you could hide in, a dark seething mountain of water. The video records shrill, exhilarating, victorious whoops of glee of the partiers it approaches. Then nothing. Now imagine, immediately you are asked by experts to stay in your shelter a little while longer, not forever, but much longer than you had ever expected to stay. Why? you ask. We’ve been so good. We did everything we were asked. We deserve to go home. We’ve run out of Lucky Charms and Quick and Coke. Despite your pleas and imploring, the experts are firm. Because, they say, a second hurricane is already coming, practically on top of the first. It’s not a Cat 5, yet, but…. This is unimaginable. This wasn’t forecast before. But, it’s here now, the experts nod somberly. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough, you hear yourself say, but…. Finally, imagine, dozens and dozens of your neighbors, even members of your own family, saying, I can’t take it anymore. This is not my life. I haven’t had a beer or a Buffalo Wings in days. You watch them, so impatient and tired of waiting and angry for the fun they miss. You watch them rush back to the beach. W. K. Sheldrake (Wayne) is the author of Instant Karma: The Heart and Soul of a Ski Bum, #1 on Outside Magazine Online’s list of “6 Adventure Books We’d Read Again and Again,” and Foreword Magazine’s ‘Gold Medal’ Adventure Book of the Year (2007). He is recording his pandemic experience of Pandemic Disability in a memoir The19: Confessions of a Mad (American) COVIDodger. He lives in Southern Colorado with his “high risk” wife where there is plenty of wide open space. They do not currently have a dog.