My niece was puzzled at my calmness when I was helping her clean up after a minor disaster. She asked if I was Pollyanna, which surprised me. It’s the first time someone’s called me that. The definition of a Pollyanna includes being excessively cheerful or optimistic. Optimistic, yes. Cheerful—hubby might disagree.
The definition then gives an example sentence: “What I am saying makes me sound like some aging Pollyanna who just wants to pretend that all is sweetness and light." Well, I wouldn’t go so far as saying I pretend it’s all sweetness and light.
The thing is, I’m not a worrier. Worry seems pointless to me. What’s the point of sweating stuff you can’t control?
Take hurricanes. Some folks track every movement so they can be prepared. I figure our retirement community is responsible for our safety, so I let them do the worrying. The options are evacuate or shelter in place. With Hurricane Milton approaching, our community determined we would shelter in place. I trusted their judgment. Besides, Milton was predicted to land 150 miles north, two categories weaker than Hurricane Ian, which we weathered just fine. So, my inner worrier checked out.
On the other hand, hubby went into Boy Scout preparedness mode. He programmed the radio to the emergency stations. He got out the emergency radio. He checked the TV stations for updates. For days before the hurricane, the TV broadcast Hurricane Milton 24/7, despite showing the same hurricane cone—no change, no drama. I’m surprised that the cone image didn’t burn itself into the screen.
We marvel at the obsessive hurricane coverage by our TV stations here. In Chicago, expected disasters like tornados or blizzards would get a few minutes of coverage, followed by, “more coverage at ten PM – back to our regular programming.”
Despite the “shelter in place” order, hubby packed his suitcase two days in advance. “You never know.” But his preparedness has saved us. Before Hurricane Ian, he bought battery-operated lights. He also bought solar-charged chargers for our phones, iPads, etc.
To help us prepare, the community delivered a non-perishable survival kit consisting of peanut butter, jelly, a StarKist tuna lunch to-go, deviled ham, bread, cereal, evaporated milk, some fruit, and some breakfast bars. Yum. After seeing those survival items, I ran to the grocery to get better stuff.
So we wouldn't be wasting free food, we decided to eat our survival rations, (Hubby likes to remind me, "It's not free, It’s included in our monthly fees.”). Anyway, I tackled the cereal while hubby spiffed up the tuna salad kit with extra mayo and relish. I took one bite of the deviled ham—ugh, it went straight into the trash. Hubby’s polishing off the peanut butter and jelly. On the other hand, our neighbors decided since they never eat the items provided in the survival bag, they’re donating them to the food bank.
I can’t blame hubby for his preparedness. He was a Boy Scout and engineer. Working in a steel mill, he took numerous safety classes. He wore hard hats, safety shoes with metal toes, and a flameproof suit.
I worked in an office. Our classes were about quality and sexual harassment.
Hubby’s always on the lookout for potential danger. Once, while eating lunch outdoors, a man on a riding mower passed by on the edge of the parking lot about 20’ away. Dave shielded his face, “If he hits a rock it will come and hit us.” That thought never would have occurred to me. I rarely think of potential dangers.
I peel vegetables with the knife aiming toward my hand. Hubby cringes. I tried his method, but I ended up peeling half the potato with the peel. In my defense, stock photos show people peeling potatoes my way,
He also banned my Feemster’s Famous slicer, a cheap mandolin from the 60s with no protection from the wide, sharp blade. Too dangerous. It’s amazing they still sell that thing. Some versions now come with a safety grip. About time!
All joking aside, we make a good balance. Since I can overlook potential risks, hubby can make me aware of them. He’s like my Lost in Space Robot alerting me to potential hazards: “Danger – Will Robinson.”
I prefer riding bicycles around the neighborhood without a helmet, but hubby always warns me of the danger. His brother died after flipping over the handlebars when testing his bicycle in front of his house.
Hubby also saves me from electrical disasters. He spots frayed cords, warns me about overloading outlets, and tells me to unplug the toaster before I use the fork to retrieve stuck toast. (I figure if it’s off, what’s the harm?) And you’re supposed to unplug the toaster when not in use. That makes sense—I’ve seen the cat eyeing the lever like it’s his new toy. That could end poorly.
He also insists on ‘no pink’ hamburgers. Despite his warning, I still loved a juicy, medium-rare burger until I saw that “Forensic Files” episode, Raw Terror. A kid almost died from a poorly cooked burger at a Boy Scout cookout. Thanks to hubby—and that show—I’m solidly in the ‘no-pink’ camp. But we still enjoy rare steaks!
So maybe I’m a bit of a Pollyanna, but I sure don’t mind having my personal safety radar in the form of hubby. It keeps life interesting... and less risky.
Epilogue
We were lucky. As predicted the hurricane landed north of us. In the last three hurricanes, our little area of Naples seems to be protected from storm surge which is what devastates coastal cities. Our little community only had a few downed trees and our section of the community had limited power outages. Cities just north of us, where people still had all their household goods on the front lawn from Hurricane Helene, got another storm surge from Milton. We are so lucky and our hearts go out to people who have lost everything.
enjoyed as always!!!!!!!!!!!