I had a friend named Dean. We haven't spoken in years so I guess I should no longer call him a friend. I am sure if I were to call we could pick things up were we left off. Dean had a fiery temper and a suspicious mind. He always thought his wife, Karen, was cheating on him. No doubt he is probably checking his wife's cell phone for made calls as I write this.
Now we have a Dean in the tropics and just as fiery. He is bearing down on Jamaica and possibly the Cayman's. My only memory of visiting Jamaica was when our cab driver tried to sell my father marijuana. Now I call that branching out in the business world. I remember my father being surprised, but strangely interested. "What does it look like?" he asked the cab driver. The cab driver pulled out a little bag that seemed filled with a dried herb. My mother didn't find it interesting at all. "Johnny, quit carrying on. You're just making things worse," I can remember her saying.
Hurricane season gets me excited. Not for the loss of property, life, or limb, but for the interesting weather it brings. It excites my father as well and we have already talked twice tonight about the weather. It bores Rosa to death. "Please," she pleaded a moment ago. "Not the weather channel again!" We usually watch the British comedies on PBS. Not tonight. Tonight is wall to wall coverage of the hurricane as I and my father place bets on whether the pressure will drop more or not, and if Dean will turn category five. Dean, don't come knocking on our door, but it will be fun to watch you dance across the gulf for a few days. Hopefully, there will only be minor damage and no loss of life. Now, where are those thunderstorms we are supposed to have tonight?