By INGRID McCLEARY
Some people blurt, some don't. It depends on your personality. I confess, I'm a blurter. My husband isn't. That's why, when he blurted last January, I jumped with surprise.
"All I know is that I'd better not hear one word about the drought!" We were watching Storm Watch '95, as the media loves giving disasters snappy nicknames, hoping to catch news of the areas where our family and friends live.
California was struggling under the assault of relentless rain. Water didn't run off its back like it does off a duck. Homes floated away. Schools closed. Businesses shut down. People drowned.
The last thing we wanted to hear was that the rain wasn't enough.
When Sunnyvale was hit by another storm in December, I worried that it marked the beginning of a repeat of Storm Watch '95. Since my husband is a horseshoer and does most of his work outside, bad weather plays a significant role in our lives. We're avid winter weather watchers and expected the storm on Dec. 11.
But we didn't expect the ferocious wind. When the brunt of the storm hit around 2 a.m., Bill and the kids were sound asleep. I ran outside and hastily constructed a rain barrier for our rabbits, herded the dogs and cats into the garage, and then battled with the patio umbrella.
The chairs lay scattered and the table and umbrella had toppled. I struggled to close the umbrella, but the wind repeatedly grabbed it and hauled me around the back yard. I half expected to fly off, Mary Poppins-style, but I finally managed to close it and store it away.
That task completed, I hurried to place garbage cans under the leaky gutter areas and cleared the drainage area of debris. By the time I returned to our living-room fire, I was drenched. And for the rest of the night I could hear trees cracking up and down the neighborhood.
The following morning, I awoke to find all three kids sprawled in the living room. Power outages at the schools again, along with large stretches of homes and businesses. Later, my sons joined me on a power walk to Las Palmas Park. There the devastation reminded me of the damage done by a Florida hurricane. A 40-foot pine had blown over; 30-foot limbs were shorn off at least four other trees. Surrounding the play area were the Cocoanut Palms for which the park was named. They stood steadfast, but five-foot saw-toothed fronds covered the fort, making it look like the Swiss Family Robinson tree house.
All through the neighborhood, tree limbs lay strewn over landscaped yards, over bent and broken fences, some hanging precariously over homes and cars.
The evening news filled us in with pictures of even more destruction, including the deaths of those who thought they were safely ensconced in their homes.
Today it seems winter doesn't know what to do with itself. Some days it's warm enough to wear shorts outside. Other days, Sunnyvale is blanketed under a London fog. And yes, there's always the threat of more rain.
Last winter, we vowed to replace our roof before the next winter arrived, but time and money ran away with the months and found us ill-prepared. So, we'll pass this season with pans placed in strategic places, with water stains marking our newly painted walls, with crossed fingers that the weather will be kind enough to let us worry about the possibility of drought this summer.
Ingrid McCleary is a columnist for The Sun.
This article appeared in the Sunnyvale Sun, February 7, 1996
©1996 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.