All of us who stayed during Hurricane Ivan have a story and I’m no exception. It’s not an exceptional story, but I’m gonna tell it anyway in just a minute.

First though, I suggest that readers do not take the On Stage and Happenings events listed in this paper as the gospel. Most of this issue was put together before the lights went out and due to storm damage and many other things, events may not go on as scheduled. A phone call should suffice to find out if events are still being held.

As someone who watches little TV, I counted on my brother to inform me if I needed to evacuate. Public radio never told me I should go and neither did my brother, so I didn’t. I did all the things one is supposed to before a storm—bringing in my bird feeders, plants and anything else that could fly. I filled up my bathtub with water. I had purchased enough water for a family of 10 and I had adequate supplies of food for a several day siege.

The contributing writers to this paper were textbook examples of efficiency. Most all of them turned in stories several days before deadline, knowing full well power was likely to go out or because they were leaving for other parts of the country. The central portions of this paper were completed by early evening on Wednesday and sent electronically to our talented page designer.

So then it’s 7 p.m. on Wednesday and there is nothing to do but wait. I tried to watch TV, but couldn’t stand it—too much information and too much time until the storm arrived. Popped in Raiders of the Lost Ark for a little escape and just as the movie was finished, the lights went out. I asked my deaf dog if she thought we should go to sleep and she said, “Hey, whither thou go, I shall go”—telepathically, of course. So we went to sleep.

At this point, I had put the issue of my future in the hands of the universe. If I was supposed to wake up, I would, if not, the dog and me would go together, which is fitting since we’ve been together for almost 17 years—my longest relationship! I did wake up at 3 a.m. when the wind was howling most fiercely, but don’t know if the wind woke me or whether it was the three gallons of water I had consumed that got me up. Grabbing the flashlight, I shined it out the back door to see the driving horizontal rain and my giant oak still intact. I went back to sleep.

People are somewhat aghast when I mention that I mostly slept through the storm, but being awake in total darkness is anxiety ridden. I have always liked the sound of wind and I slept soundly until morning when the built-up heat in the house became uncomfortable. I know I’m fortunate to have remained safe and sustained virtually no damage, when many others are without homes. My incredible good fortune was brought home when I drove through the Sun Cay Condominiums in Destin and saw people living in tents because the roof blew off one of the buildings.

Hurricanes are a fact of life in coastal towns. When I was a kid and my father was stationed at Camp LeJeune, N.C. there was a nasty hurricane. We lived about 10 miles from the Atlantic Ocean. I don’t remember the name of the storm but it struck during the day and at one point the rain was driving horizontally through the front door—not under it or from the top—but through it. Why the door didn’t fly off or the house collapse, I’ll never know, but somehow that experience did not cause a life-long trauma.

In the final analysis, I think I must subscribe to my mother’s theory of predestination, i.e. the date of your death is set at the time of your birth. What happens in between is largely up to you, but you can’t change your destiny.

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