Sunday, February 13, 2011


My husband and I got such a kick out of these
"FREE SAND" signs on our drive along Lake Michigan.

"Weatherman predicts these gale-like winds will last another 48 hours."

"We should be fine, right? I stocked up on water, batteries, candles, and canned food. We've really got to put in a back door, Hank. I keep telling you that."

"I know, Joyce. You act like I don't do anything but sit here all day. I work, you know."

"That's not what I said, Hank. But may I remind you of the storm of '99? We were stuck in here for a week before someone came and shovelled us out. I just don't want to get stuck in here again. That sand blows right off the water and piles up."

"Do you think I'm an idiot? I know it piles up. I'm the one that had to shovel our entire yard once the city dug us out enough to crawl through the window."

"Which is why I thought you'd get around to putting in a back door."

"I will." Hank stomped off and turned on the television. "Power's out." Stir crazy, he wandered over to the window and peered over the mountain of sand that was already piled in drifts against the windows and door. They were pinned inside their own home.

Joyce stood next to him and wrung her hands. What had ever possessed them to move along the Lake Michigan shore? Though, who'd have ever guessed that they'd be buried in sand, not snow?

Joyce drew in a quick breath. "Oh my God, Hank. Did you put out the sign?"

Hank ran his hand through his head. "Yeah, I put it out," he said, though he wasn't entirely sure.

Joyce exhaled. "Hopefully someone will see it and come dig us out soon."

Hank nodded and headed toward the basement. He hoped he wouldn't find the sign still stuck behind his tool cabinet, but just in case, he'd have enough time to hide it before Joyce went down for emergency supplies.

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