I always cherish this week as a way to get away from the world of security. I get to stay in one place for a week. I get to read. There's no missed flights or TSA screenings. No rental cars or meals on the fly. No conference calls. And, to the guarded chagrin of my wife, only an .

I've followed this routine for many years with only a few exceptions. I'm the kind of person who embraces routine for the comfort it brings. But this year was different. We still went to the beach nearly every day. Dined at some great restaurants. Drank a bit too much. But this year's vacation included an event I really did not plan for when I booked the trip last fall: Irene. As our vacation neared and our anticipation grew, so did the news coverage of Hurricane Irene, whose path was quickly converging with ours.

Now, I've lived through my share of tropical storms and hurricanes over the years. It's a given when you live in coastal New England. We learned young to make a beeline for the supermarket to stock up on bread, milk and batteries--those staples are drilled into every child's head growing up in New England. (When you reach adulthood, you learn that you are also supposed to stock up on booze.)

We were certainly never told to get on a boat, go to an island, and ride out the storm.

As it turned out, Irene (at least on our island) was a bit of a bust. Lots of wind, a little rain, plenty of Dark 'n' Stormy cocktails (recipe for that concoction available upon request). The sun was even out for most of it.