When Hurricane Sandy hit New York City last week, I made sure I kept in close touch with the family and city I left behind when I moved to Los Angeles 3 months ago. I was in New York City for Irene and many hurricanes before and unlike other Big Apple residents, I didn't consider any of them busts. Hurricane Irene left my tiny second floor Corona, Queens apartment damp from cheap carpet and a drippy ceiling. I know how moderate rain storms in the past have shut down subways, a transportation lifeline for millions. Snowstorms have had a similar impact on the city so I expected Sandy to be harsh. But I had no idea. No one did.
Angelenos are the most spoiled people when it comes to weather. I miss rain and chuckle when every drizzle becomes a storm watch and when wet ground from an overnight shower becomes cause for my 5-year-old's elementary school to have indoor lineup -- lest the kids get sick with 60 degree temps and moisture. When it has rained here, my kids and I run outside with excitement. While I love waking up and seeing palm trees out our window, I long for crisp fall East Coast air and the mosaic of colors that comes from falling leaves.
My 5-year-old daughter, pretty in pink, at school on Halloween in Los Angeles.
But it's easy to get used to the sunny days and 80 degree weather. There is only one wardrobe in Los Angeles, with layers when temps get below 60. Yes, below 60 is considered cold here. When the temperature is in the high 50's, my kids and I pile on the blankets and raise the heat. We put on chunky sweaters and sweats. We shiver here while in NYC we would consider high 50's lovely on November. We do not pull out the parkas and Uggs though, the way I see parents and kids walking to school on LA "chilly" mornings. It's hard not to roll my eyes and giggle watching moms and kids drink hot chocolate while donning wool hats and gloves. Exagerados!
What would Angelenos do during a hurricane? Would their earthquake preparedness skills help them make it through or would they be washed away? I know my family back in New York City was prepared. My sister left her Brooklyn basement apartment for the safety of my mom's fourth floor Queens co-op. My mom, who recently retired after years of working in retail, stocked up in canned food, water, and candles but also decided Sandy offered a great opportunity for a Rican feast of pasteles and arroz con salchichas. My stepmother's name is Sandy so I knew my mother was not about to let another Sandy mess up her life. My sister brought wine. My cousin who lives down the street arrived at my mom's with her dog and beer. Two of my sister's neighborhood friends came by my mom's house with whiskey and more alcohol. A full hurricane party was in effect and when I, wearing shorts and a t-shirt called from my veranda to check in on my family, I actually felt like my kids and I were missing out on something.
My mom's hurricane survival kit in Rego Park, Queens included Puerto Rican pasteles, booze, and velas.