My parents in happier waterfront times, eating crabs, and nailing that 70s look.
Hurricane Matthew is bearing down on the house by the river, and though neither of my parents live there any more, they have each assumed their traditional storm prep positions.
My father is in a small box in the ground, and therefore has resumed his position of Not Evacuating. He was famous for Not Evacuating (with one notable exception), and will Not Be Evacuating this time either. If there is an afterlife, I imagine he's telling everyone in earshot that he is still Not Evacuating, and if their antecedents are getting on 95 they're damn fools.
My mother lives in North Carolina now, hours inland. She knows people who still live on the coast, so is in a chain-smoking, hand-wringing panic. You can tell this is going to be a big storm, because she said "Man-a-rootie!" four times in a row (to let God know this was going to be important), then began the lamentations and entreaties. If you live between Brunswick and Ponta Vedra, take heart. You are being prayed for with the abandon of a Dervish.
Once, they did evacuate. When Floyd came at the coast in 1999, my father's will was broken by the relentless onslaught of my mother's fear, and they came to my house. Mom brought all the family photos, all her jewelry, and every piece of her clothing that was less than a year old. My father brought two pork tenderloins and a can of smoked almonds.
No clothes, no toothbrush, no tea bags. If he was going to do something as God Damn Absurd as get on the highway with every Damn Idiot in south Georgia, he was going all-in. Plus it gave him an excuse to go to potentially more exotic big-city Walmarts, so that was a plus. He spent two pleasant days requesting special meals and telling my husband how he was painting our baseboards wrong, then returned to his untouched home and swore he would never evacuate again.
I am glad Mom is safe. I wish it meant she wasn't afraid, but am starting to understand how little the one has to do with the other. I am even happier for Dad, a block off the river in his box, mocking the idiots.