The predictions were dire. Hurricane Sandy had been stewing in the Caribbean for days. It was projected to travel up the East Coast of the United States and then make a left turn—heading directly into my home at the Jersey Shore. A year ago, my husband, Terry, and I had heard similar warnings about Hurricane Irene. Officials were predicting a direct hit and ordered everyone to evacuate the islands along the Jersey Shore. We moved as much as we could from our ground floor, which actually goes down two steps from the sidewalk. It included the queen-sized mattress from the futon in our recreation room, the television, my husband's drum set, tools and boxes and boxes of Lovefraud materials. T …

