I Was Cowering In My Closet [3 Video Clips]

I don't know where you were when Irene blew through town, but I was cowering in my closet -- with my dog.

Before the storm struck, I had boarded up my bungalow, stocked up on enough peanut butter and jelly to feed a kindergarten class for a month, and armed myself with a saw -- just in case I had to cut my way through the branches of a tree that I envisioned would fall on my head. (Click here to read story.)

After all, three huge trees loomed over the northeast corner of my cottage. So, naturally, I picked the southwest corner of the house -- my bedroom closet -- as my safe zone. It was the farthest spot from the trees -- diagonally across from the terrible trio.

I awoke 5 a.m. Sunday to the sound of branches hitting the roof. As I was lying there, eyes wide open, my mind kicked into gear. I envisioned one of the trees bowing to the wind above the house.

Suspecting the trunk was about to snap, I bolted out of bed and jumped into the closet -- yanking the leash of my 130-pound dog and beckoning her to join me.

"Baci, come! Come here!" I commanded.

We squeezed into the 6-by-3 foot space -- and waited and waited and waited.

As we hovered inside the closet, wind howling around the cottage, I held the leash and held my breath, as the branches kept slapping against the roof as if to torment me.

I recalled being told that the storm was expected to subside by 10 or 11 a.m., so I knew I had to stay put for another five or six hours.

The car wasn't an option. Then, I'd be dodging lots of other trees. The likelihood of survival was better in the bungalow, I reasoned, because my house could sustain a blow much better than my Honda.

Anxious with anticipation, I, strangely enough, tried to go to sleep to escape the excitement. I rolled over on my side, on some pillows I had thrown under me, faced the wall of the closet -- and closed my eyes with my back toward my bedroom and my dog, Baci.

My seeking solace didn't last long. I sat upright, and leaned my head against the wall. Baci stood guard, lying between me and Irene. Baci, a mastiff, takes her guarding job very seriously.

Through the french doors of the bedroom and the windows of the dining area beyond, I could see branches and leaves flying around outside in the darkness.

I also spotted a can of tuna under the bed. I had knocked it over from my makeshift pantry when I ran for cover.

Eventually, my kidneys called and I had to make a run for the bathroom as Irene whipped around the house. On the way back, I realized that one of the trees had fallen across the backyard deck and onto my office/den. I hadn't heard it, but I've since learned that sometimes trees descend slowly in storms.

Frightened, I dove back in the closet. I feared another one of the three trees would topple.

Relentless Irene was still howling outside the house, when I decided my bare feet weren't an option if Baci and I had to make a run for it. Mustering the courage to climb out of the closet, I quickly donned socks and the knee-high rubber boots I had bought just to greet Irene. I slipped on pants and a shirt -- and then waterproof rain gear I had also purchased for my debut with the hurricane that I will always call a hurricane even though she was officially downgraded to a tropical storm.

Dressed for my escape, I took position in the corner of the closet again. I was ready to run, with car keys in hand -- and saw by my side.

While my thoughts before the storm were of fairy tales (I was acting like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz as she ran home to Auntie Em in the middle of a hurricane), reality struck during the storm (I was hiding from Irene like Ann Frank hid from the Nazis in World War II.)

Eventually, the winds slowed down, but were still blowing at a good clip -- and the cell phone started ringing.

"I'm in the closet," I told my sister, a retired cop.

"You sound like you're in shock," she said.

Good assessment. After all, I had been cowering, for the most part, for nearly five hours.

Eventually, I crawled out for good -- but only after I heard several people on the street examining the aftermath of the storm.

A brave neighbor knocked -- and I reassured him Baci and I were all right.

A further examination of the house revealed that the tree had punctured the roof, ripping insulation from the ceiling and scattering plasterboard and water all over my armoire and some other items in the office/den.

Wind was swirling around in that room, as Irene had blown one of the windows open, so I just stood at the doorway and then closed the door. I couldn't bear the sight.

When I mustered the courage to walk inside the room later on, I stepped under the dampened and otherwise damaged ceiling. I could see the bark of a branch sitting in the hole on top of the insulation that had broken free. Beyond that, bright blue sky.

Later, crowds formed in front of my house. The people pointed and commented to one another. I saw them through the picture window -- and felt like a spectacle. I'm used to looking into disaster and devastation, not out from it. I didn't like it.

It was clear that part of my new home was severely damaged. Still, I rejoiced. Baci and I had survived -- and I didn't even have to use the saw!