Hope From Despair

Several weeks ago I was pleasantly informed by my future mother-in-law that, at the rate of things, there would be a Hurricane Nate this summer. While it reveals something of my identity, I was excited to hear that they finally saw the merit in naming a hurricane after me. Sometime late last week Hurricane Nate formed somewhere in the Atlantic, and my hopes began to grow. I even received a phone call from a coworker to inform me of my prospects. Now, before Nancy Pelosi begins to slander me on CNN, I’m not demented enough to hope that Nate turns into the next Katrina, but I want my namesake to do well for himself. As I am writing this, Hurricane Nate is still in the Atlantic and is heading straight out to sea. What a let down. The one time in my life that I have one of these meteorological leviathans named after me and the thing turns tail and runs at the first sight of land, if a hurricane considers Bermuda to be "land." As I watched the weather last night my hopes turned to despair. My namesake would not be honored in tales for future generations of coastal dwellers. Hurricane Nate was truly a disappointment. But then I thought to myself, perhaps Hurricane Nate isn't the underachiever I think he is. What if he is an overachiever? It would only make sense. The Gulf/Atlantic Coast and the Caribbean get hammered by several hurricanes each year. It's been done, but when was the last time that the Atlantic Coast of Europe got hit. Um, never? I am now very proud of little Nate as he blazes his course across the Atlantic to go where no storm has gone before. Will he make it? The odds don’t look good, but hopefully he has opened the door for many more adventurous storms to come. Watch out Spain, here comes Nate!