Thinking back a few years, while living in Florida, I remember Hurricane Andrew. I was ready for it, but my first wife was not. When the wind reached a screaming freight-train pitch with the trees thrashing and snapping, the horizontal streaming rain, the flying roof shingles and tiles, destroyed fences, my wife was rooted to one same spot. She stared and stared through the glass of the window. Immovable, with her nose pressed to the window, the stark fear in her eyes will stay with me forever. Fortunately, as the eye of the storm arrived and the winds temporarily lessened, I was able to grab a beer, open the door and let her in.