Blog #3: In the Eye of the Storm

By Quan Cao, ELL Outlook™ Contributing Writer

In the eye of the storm, there is a dead, eerie, humming quiet, the kind of quiet that makes each of us question the silence, the beatitude of the still, the kind of quiet that awes us with the fragility and the strength of Mother Nature. As Hurricane Frances moved slowly northward toward us, it became more and more of a certainty that we would be hit and more and more of a certitude that human dramas would become secondary to the context and the spectacle of wind surges and gusts and rainstorms and tornadoes.

Even television coverage of the impending storm drove our anxiety and questioned our resilience. School was first suspended Thursday afternoon in anticipation, and then it was canceled for the whole day. The governor came on TV to talk about evacuating people who live on the coastline and all the things government can do for people, chiding people for their "abject stupidity" in resisting evacuation orders and wanting to ride out the storms in their trailer parks. He even mentioned he would not be going to the national convention because his job required him to be here in the state. When an act of God takes place, all men's activities become seemingly meaningless: elections, laws, financial transactions, business negotiations. All are suspended in anticipation of the impending suspension of the most basic services we as human beings need for our survival.

What those basic services are and the level of their import would be defined and redefined during the days to come: water, air, shelter, clothing, all basic necessities that can no longer be taken for granted. Suddenly, education seems so much less important. It's at a time like this that I observe more acutely how a sense of emergency is forged and how relationships between strangers change.

The first gale-force gusts of wind came late Friday night after daylong drizzles had sufficiently softened and moistened the ground. Ficas and palms were no match as winds whistled through at a 100-mile clip and turned the South Florida landscape upside down. As we huddled in the safety of the only room in the house without a window, in the coziness of the dryness, with storm shutters protecting the rest of the house from flying projectiles outside, we didn't know how the loss of electricity would affect us. We had certainly prepared ourselves with batteries, candles, and plenty of canned soups, crackers, and the obligatory bags of junk: chips and cookies. Little did we realize how frayed our nerves would become after the fourth day of going without. To wake up in the dark, to use sterno to boil water to make coffee, to go out for a walk each time the winds ceased. Most of all, communications seemed to take on a different depth, seemingly urgent one minute and then, in the next minute, not quite that important anymore.

Every time I got access to a window where cell phone coverage became available, I checked in with friends and family. I even went over to a friend's house to use the Internet to send out messages and check my daily e-mail. When the storm finally stopped and power seemed imminent, I became more impatient to resume some semblance of routine. My temper was short by the fifth day of the suspension of power and, try as I might to become more meditative and more observant, I discovered myself to be a completely different person without the benefit of air conditioning and a hot shower. I got in line and waited for two hours for gasoline, only to drive around for another two to enjoy the air conditioning in the car, all the time burning up the valuable gasoline. I sent notes out to students, knowing that the majority of them had more important things to do than check in with me for assignments, and I was pleasantly surprised when more than half of them wrote back.

As this is going to press, we have been informed that both Hurricane Ivan and Jeanne have had a change of heart, if not a change of trajectory, and have made a U-turn. Ivan is heading for the Louisiana and Texas coast, straight for Houston. Jeanne is going back to Disney World and Orlando, Florida. Some things never change, and some lessons are harder to learn than others.

Things Hurricanes (Charley, Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne) Have Taught Me!!!

• An oak tree on the ground looks four times bigger than it did standing up.
• Even after all these years, it is still nice to spend time with Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with the lead pipe.
• When house hunting, look for closets with lots of leg room.
• Water from the shower is much colder than water from the sink. .. and it tastes just as bad.
• The four-way stop is still an ingenious reflection of civility.
• Radio can be the best way to watch television.
• Chain-saw-wielding men are nothing to be afraid of.
• SUVs are the best makeshift tents on the market.
• You can use your washing machine as a cooler.
• It's your God-given and constitutionally protected right to sit on your back porch and eat Chinese takeout by candlelight in your underwear.
• We shouldn't complain about "useless" tools in the garage. .. we actually do need a generator.
• You can't spell "priceless" without I-C-E.
• Cell phones: Breaking up is hard to do.
• The need for your dog to go out and take care of business is inversely proportional to the severity of the storm.
• Candlelight is better than Botox. .. it takes several years off your appearance.
• Air conditioning: Best invention ever.
• Water is comfort food. But three-day-old Cheetos are, too.
• Shadow animals on the wall are. .. still fun.
• There's a plus to having nothing in the refrigerator.
• The movie theater can be a most pleasant place, even if the feature is Alien vs. Predator.

How to Recognize a Floridian

• They exhibit a slight twitch when introduced to anyone with the first names of Charley, Frances, Ivan, or Jeanne.
• Their freezer never has more than $20 worth of food in it at any given time.
• They are looking at paint swatches for the plywood on their windows to accent the house color.
• They talk about their hall closet/safe room as "cozy."
• They have a collage of roof shingles from their neighborhood on their driveway. They each own five large ice chests.
• They are friendly with people in line at the free ice, gas, and plywood locations.
• They always stop what they're doing and clap and wave when they see a convoy of power company trucks come down their street.
• They are depressed when the trucks don't stop.
• They know the definition of bar chain oil.
• They think the $6000 whole-house generator seems reasonable.
• They get really passionate in discussions about the merits of cubed, block, and dry ice.
• They ask their friends and relatives up north to start saving the Sunday real estate classifieds!

As two more storms have come and gone, it's easy now to be reflective and somewhat bemused by human behavior. Yet Frances, like other hurricanes before it and those to come, taught me much about learning and communicating. It taught me that what has meaning for someone doesn't have the same meaning for somebody else. It taught me that our priorities shift and change all the time, instantly, sometimes without any awareness on our part. It taught me that relationships, as superficial and as transparent as they might be, are the substance of what we know and how we are known to others, and it's a good thing in the middle of a crisis like a hurricane not to think too importantly of ourselves. Finally, Frances taught me that my humanity is the biggest gift that I as a teacher can give to someone else, that suffering and being deprived of things I know to be essential make me wonder just how essential and how meaningful they actually are. We are who we are, and that's how we communicate ourselves to others, regardless of how we want to control the message or utilize the medium. Through it all, I discovered what a blessing it is to be able to continue to learn so I can continue to teach. Sometimes, it takes a hurricane, an act of God, for us to understand our humanity.

If you have any comments about this article or questions for for the author, please send them to: alex@coursecrafters.com.