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Some storms make coffee lovers nervous

It was the morning after.
‘Get up, honey,’ he said. ‘Now. I made a pot of coffee.’
‘Uh, huh?’
He can’t do that, I muttered sleepily to myself. There’s no electricity. But I was wrong. I guess that old saying, ‘Necessity is the mother of invention,’ must be true.
‘Come on; get on up. This coffee’s not exactly hot,’ he said. ‘Get it while it’s fresh, at least.’
I climbed out of bed, stumbled down the hall and into the kitchen, all with the aid of a million-candle-power flashlight.
‘No prob; just nuke it,’ I told him.
‘Well, duuuh,’ he murmured
‘I thought of a better way,’ he said, pouring the coffee into a pan and taking it out on the back deck, to the gas grill. Sure enough, not too many minutes later, I had a steaming hot cup of coffee in my hand.
Being without electricity surely was easier in the old days, before stuff like freezers, electric stoves, water heaters, DirecTV, fish pond pumps, etc. Now, I admit I’m spoiled. If I had grown up at the time of my dearly departed ancestors, all these amenities wouldn’t be necessary because I wouldn’t have known about them in the first place, and I would be prepared to cook over an open flame and sweat the night away.
I’m not the only one who feels that way. Apparently so did a lot of other people who fled to Corydon to take refuge in one of the great hotels there. We couldn’t get a room at our first choice, which was sold out by 9 o’clock. Just barely did we get into the next one (now my favorite). We got the last room on the third floor, where all the cigarette smokers are relegated. Hot water and a shower later, we were the happiest we’d been since last Tuesday night’s ferocious storm.
Back on the job the next morning, I found out from my friend Karen Hanger, from the advertising department, that things could have been a lot scarier than a blackout or a cold cup of coffee.
About 7:15 that stormy night, Karen drove her silver 2002 Grand Prix into her carport near English, anxious to get inside the house because the sky was turning dark and the wind was getting fierce.
It was blowing so hard that, despite pushing with all her might, Karen could not open the car door.
So she sat and waited for calmer weather. Then the ground began to buckle in front of the carport, right in front of her eyes. Just like one of those fright-night movies, before the creepy crawly, green-headed monsters arrive on the scene.
The silver maple, probably 100 years old or more, began to sway in the wind ‘ right toward her head. ‘I thought, something … was … like a … volcano … ‘ Karen recalled later.
‘I didn’t worry about the tree falling. I was worried about what was coming out of the ground!
‘Then it started to move; the ground around it was moving, and that huge old trunk started twisting … I said, ‘OH! MY! GOD! That tree’s going to mash me flat’.’
Here’s why you and I can talk to Karen today. That maple tree twisted and turned sideways and fell with a ka-thump, right beside the house. Didn’t hurt a flea.
Well, maybe a flea.
Coffee. I think I need another cup to settle my jitters.
In the meantime, here’s a word to all of you who may want to know how my ingenious man Virgil got an electric coffee pot to work against the system.
‘I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before,’ he said, as he opened the lid on the thing where the coffee grounds go in a drip-style pot. He poured the lukewarm water through, slowly, and out came the coffee, also known as ‘the nectar of the Rise and Shine gods.’ Next, he heated it up on that gas grill. Like I said, ingenious,
‘Hey, Karen. How about a cup?’