Once upon a time, there was a family who was trying to plan a beach vacation together.
“How about July,” suggested one.
“Nah, that’s too expensive,” was the reply.
“Okay, how about September,” suggested another.
“Can’t. Got a work thing,” said someone else.
“Alright. How ’bout October. Halloween week?”
After much hemming and hawing and checking of calendars, it was decided that that would work.
From then on, the family watched the weather anxiously. Hurricanes came and went, leaving the Atlantic coast mercifully alone.
October arrived and the weather remained beautiful. Day after day, the forecast read, “80 degrees and sunny! Bet you wish you were here right now!” And they did.
Finally, the day of departure was almost at hand. Bathing suits were packed. Fishing poles were stashed. Coolers were packed.
But just as the last toenail was being painted, Sandy arrived on the scene.
“Son of a…” was the collective thinking.
But when it looked like Sandy wasn’t going to make landfall, they got in their cars and started the drive to the coast.
It was a long drive. And by the time they got there, the rest of the country was in a panic. Sandy was turning into a real bitch of a storm.
At the beach, the wind howled across the sand. The waves threw themselves at the houses crowding the water. The sky turned an ominous shade of grey. And then? Sandy moved on.
The wind kept up, but the sun came out and the family set about enjoying their beachfront vacation, even as Sandy tore her way up the coast.
Kites were flown.
Fishing poles were cast.
Walks were taken.
Sexy beach gear was donned.
And new discoveries were made every day.
It was not the vacation the family had planned. But it was a good one. Sandy or no Sandy.