How do you define that part of the human personality that on the one hand expresses fearful dread of another hurricane stiking where we live and then, after it has safely passed, are a little disappointed that nothing happened. Dennis is now almost due west of us. It is well out in the Gulf of Mexico and without doing a severe right angle turn, it will keep going north. Some one is going to be miserable so it seems unsportsman-like to be happy about that, but I am. I'd feel guilty except that I'm sure the people up north would feel the same way if the storm took that right angle turn.
Hurricanes have fascinated me since 1938 when my mother (a wild one) took me out driving around town during that year's big storm. That was in New Jersey. The same storm decimated New England. My aunt and grandmother were also out driving around (my mother's side of the family were all daredevils). They were up in Massachusett. Mom and I got home safe, but Aunt Becky and Grandma's car was blown off the road. Grandma's leg was broken. Mom never realized how strange it made me feel to hear her criticize Aunt Becky for going out in the storm, yet never admit to them she had done the same thing.
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