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I had the Gator (our name for our motor home) parked on the west side of my 
house as close to the shut garage door as possible. 18 steps from my front 
door, that just happened to be on the wind sheltered side of the house, to 
the door opening of Flying Gator (my new name for him during the storm), 
with no steps.  I had retracted them under the motor home earlier because I 
knew this thing would rock so hard they would be gone if I didn?t.

The motor home was prepared, sort of, for travel, because, if you had the 
nerve to step inside and spend some time in there, it actually felt as if 
you were moving backwards, at 80 mph, with an occasional higher gust, as you 
sat (sitting prevents falling down) in the kitchen area, with the RV rocking 
and rolling, trying to make coffee.  Coffee addictions, such as mine, are a 
serious problem.  And, there was the occasional, very loud BONK sound, that 
always made you jump, no matter how many times you heard it, of flying 
debris bulleting into the side of my Gator.

BONK sounds, while drinking coffee, will only make one wonder why are you in 
there (coffee, coffee) in the first place, and, do you ever plan on running 
back into your house, dodging whatever is flying through the air causing 
that awful noise.  When one goes through something like this, it?s 
imperative that you are with the ones you love since the Grim Reaper might 
take them, or you, away, at any time.  I had most of these people in my 
house right now.  Throw in the dogs and horses and my entire life was here 
in the belly of hurricane Frances.

This is what I did Saturday morning, trying to make coffee, watching the 
television in my rocking and rolling motor home, listening to a fellow name 
of Tommy Terry, the weather Guru, describe, in detail, via radar, the end of 
your world, as you knew it.  It was only a matter of time. Those of us who 
made the decision not to evacuate, we were all going to die. Flying debris, 
my roof shingles being the number one item of interest, along with branches 
from trees and pine cones (yes, they can fly), were swirling around 
everywhere.  I peeked out the window and when I saw all of this, the tall 
pine trees bending over to such a degree their branches were actually 
touching the ground, I became quite dizzy.  I quit peeking and moved away 
from the window.  Once you get the idea of what is happeing outside you can 
only handle so much of this visual nightmare which, unfortunately, was not a 
dream.

And, listening to what was happening to my state, my county and those 
surrounding me, the information was not doing any good at all for my blood 
pressure.  Still, I just had to know when (I knew where) we were all going 
to die.  I knew that when the roof totally ripped off from my house we were 
all totally screwed.  In addition to the winds and the flooding the grim 
news from weather expert Tommy Terry was that twisters were an added 
attraction one had to consider.  Welcome to the Wizard of OZ, Howard, and, 
yes, it?s true, you?re not in Kansas anymore and don?t you wish you were?  I 
think I would have wanted to be anywhere else except where I was now.

It had been 12 hours since I had been out to the barn to check on the 
horses.  I had put them in their stalls, again, just like I did during 
Hurricane Charley.  The thing with Charley was it blew through my place in 
less than 3 hours.  Frances had no intention of being like her predecessor.  
She seemed to be that unwelcome guest who intended on staying for much 
longer.  I had visions of a horse or two down, lack of water, broken bones, 
things that made you realize you should have left town for this one. The 
winds were blowing so hard, you would be risking your life to make that trip 
to the barn; one I was planning on making real soon, after this episode with 
my mother in law was over, if that ever ended.

The horses were a big reason why we stayed.  Love is Blind sometimes. That 
spot in my heart for those horses may have made me a bit soft and, 
sometimes, being too soft, can kill you or those around you.  If Frances has 
taught me anything, it?s that next time, we will not stay.  Plan ahead and 
leave early.  Leave, and, consider, not returning.

Tennessee, it?s the place to be, the place for me, my Tennessee.  I sang 
this in my head (in my fantasy world, home of my delusional thinking, I?m a 
really good singer) during the lulls, even though there really weren?t many, 
of Hurricane Frances.  Between periods of mopping out water, running out to 
the motor home to make coffee (Fear Factor, Episode One), and waiting for 
the ambulance to come save the life of my mother in law (Bravery Required 
Factor, Episode Two), I entered, even if for only a brief moment, my 
Tennessee fantasy.  You know, the one where I?m riding my favorite horse, 
for hours and hours, in the Smokey mountains of Tennessee, with a little 
southwestern North Carolina thrown in.  No wind, no rain, maybe, a beer or 
two in my pack, and not a care in the world.  Peace, tranquility, calmness, 
on a horse that I love (I seem to love them all).

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