First husband Arthur was born during a raging hurricane, so this week’s namesake storm was memory-provoking. Growing up in Miami, I attended plenty of hurricane parties where running out of rum–not losing power—was considered the worst thing that could happen. Today’s National Weather Service officials would be appalled our lack of precautions. We placed duct-tape Xs across windows to prevent shattering. That was that. Evacuation orders? Not in 22 years. We simply waited things out, knowing that there was enough booze on hand to sustain us until the all-clear signal was sounded. We had our priorities, after all.