We're going to take a short break from world banks and foreign trade over the next two weeks, because Cora and I are on vacation. If you remember last year's little summer break, we were involved with too-close-for-comfort wildfires out west. This year we're dealing with an overabundance of unwanted water in the mid-Atlantic states. Somehow, between smoke in the west and fog in the east, Cora and I always manage to escape disaster by the skin of our teeth.

Our first weekend on the road was spent with a friend in Kentucky. After two miserable rainy days, Cora insisted on going to the theatre. She whined and prodded the elders out the door, because the only showtime for the particular movie she wanted to see was at 9:55 PM. Amid adult gripes about the late hour and the drive in pouring rain, we still managed to arrive in time for the previews. The movie was good, but the post-show drama was more exciting. When we arrived back at the apartment complex, we were greeted by policemen, fire trucks, and about five feet of water in an area encircling two blocks around my friend's apartment. During a ninety-minute interval - while we were munching popcorn ten miles away - a small storm cell dumped five inches of rain in an area that couldn't handle the overflow. We stood on a hilltop and gazed out over car rooftops, studied water lines created by receding floodwaters, and tried to cope with the almost instantaneous tragedy.

We were told to find a hotel room, as we couldn't wade through the waist-deep water to my friend's apartment. On our search for a room, we all began to realize our losses. We explained to Cora that my friend didn't carry renter's insurance, which meant that none of the damaged items could be replaced. Even if renter's insurance were maintained, flood insurance wasn't included. Without flood insurance, the loss would be considered part of the omnipotent "Act of God" clause, where the damage would be considered "just one of those horrible things that happen when flood waters rise too high too fast." (Cora was curious about the strange mix of insurance and religion.) As this realization hit her, she began to add the costs of everything we left on our friend's floor. Then she added my friend's losses. Then she began to cry. Through her tears, she apologized for begging to go to the movies. "If we hadn't gone," she said, "None of this would have happened."

That statement was a wake-up call for me to climb out of my own misery and tend to Cora's emotional state. We began to count blessings: Although we felt we lost a great deal, we still couldn't be sure how much damage was sustained since we weren't allowed into the apartment. In addition, Cora managed to save the car! If we refused to take her to the movies, my friend's Camry would have drowned. Plus, we got to stay in a top-rate hotel, because rooms were filled at all the lower-rate facilities. Since we were flood victims, we received free toothbrushes, toothpaste, and one comb. We didn't have to pay for the room, because the apartment complex offered to reimburse the flooded residents. Oh - and let's not forget the free continental breakfast waiting for us in the morning.

We didn't unwind until about 4:00 AM, but we were up and running about six hours later (too late for the free breakfast), and we were on pins and needles to discover what awaited us. As we showered and dressed, the local news program showed one of my friend's neighbors as he walked through his apartment. Everything was a total loss. "Waist-high water," he said. We all looked at each other and realized we were in for a long and dirty weekend.

We dodged potholes and fallen branches as we pulled into the apartment complex. Cars were being towed, and a news crew carefully lugged their lights and cameras around as they interviewed residents. My friend parked the car and we trudged up the two stairs to the apartment. As the key clicked in the lock and the door creaked opened, we had to blink twice before we realized the floor was dry. We took off our shoes and stomped around on the carpet. Nothing. Dry feet. No damage.

After an exultant and triumphant tribal dance, we left the apartment to learn about the extent of the damage around us. As we talked to neighbors, we discovered most people lost their cars, many people lost everything they owned, and even those with one inch of water lost their furniture. As the day wore on, we realized my friend's apartment was the only one to escape damage...by just one inch. No one we talked with carried flood insurance, but the news crew uncovered a broken sump pump. This pump was built to handle overflows exactly like the flood that occurred the previous evening. Whether this piece of machinery belonged to the city or the apartment complex was unknown at the time, but we're aware the residents intend to pursue the issue.

Thus far, Cora and I learned a few things about traveling and visiting with friends. After this particular experience, we're not afraid to ask the following:

• Do you have flood insurance?
• Do you live on the tallest hill in your area?
• Do you have shelf space at least seven feet tall for our suitcases?
• Anytime it rains, are you game for a movie (on high ground)?

Cora was honored with a movie "anytime, anywhere" she wants when we return to Kentucky. Although we felt the guilt twinges of "survivor syndrome," we'll get over it, I'm sure. Miracles do happen, and sometimes we really deserve to be blessed.

Next week we might let you know why it's not a good idea to maintain mature poplar trees anywhere near a house or storage unit after three weeks of steady rain. In the meantime, keep an eye on the WTO proceedings in the mid-east and pull your teens in on a conversation about how this might affect your portfolio possibilities.

Until then,
Linda Goin