The act of making a bed is so mundane, so routine that we don't give it much thought.

For me, making a bed last Saturday was an eye-opening, reverent experience, filled with appreciation and awe, along with plenty of regret and anxiety.

As I made the bed I thought about how many thousands of times I had done that, never consciously thankful I had a wonderful bed, crisp linens and a cozy comforter.

It's not that I'm not a thankful person. When I get up each morning the first thing I do is give thanks for the day and pray that I will use the day to do good. I pray too that I will be mindful of the blessings that come my way.

But I never think making a bed is one of those blessings.

All that changed Saturday as what was being called "the worst hurricane of the century" came barreling toward us.

I live along coastal southwest Florida in what we all call our own little piece of paradise. When Hurricane Charley decimated parts of our county in 2004, my community was spared. It also escaped relatively unscathed during three more hurricanes that followed.

Saturday, emergency management told us our luck had run out. Hurricane Irma was headed right for us. Some models of storm predictability had it scheduled to make landfall right at us.

Because of my basic positive nature and based on the past, I believed the hurricane would wobble and change direction before it smacked us. For a while, it looked like that's exactly what would happen.

I believed it until our community got its ominous order to evacuate. By 6:30 in the morning Saturday, most people had left. When I made my bed that day I thought about how blessed I was all these years to have a comfortable bed in a sweet little house in paradise. I briefly wondered why I never realized what a gift it is to have a bed.

The weather alarm kept shrieking, urging the rest of us to get out. Now! We were told the storm surge would soon cover our little bungalows. Our longtime county emergency director said he was forced to say the words he never wanted to utter again. "You are directly in harm's way. Leave."

I would like to tell you I calmly made preparations and rational decisions. But it would be a lie. Video coverage of Houston's flooding filled my mind, along with the sure knowledge that thousands of us would be on the evacuation route, stuck in the parking lot that was once called our Interstate and the only way out.

I knew it wasn't doable at this late stage. Fortunately, our close friends Franck and Jan Johannesen had invited us to stay with them in their Sarasota home, only an hour away.

When I closed the door on my home I believed it would be the last time I ever saw it.

By the time we got to our friends' home my anxiety level was so high I couldn't breathe. But Franck and Jan are both so calm all the time. Being comforted by their warmth made me briefly forget I was about to lose my home - until I tried to sleep at night.

I knew there would be thousands of us displaced hurricane victims needing replacement homes for those that no longer existed. I pictured living in a little FEMA trailer and hoped there would be enough of them.

Eventually Sarasota lost power so we had no electricity and no water. But there was no hardship being there. Franck and Jan are both so resourceful and managed to use a grill to produce feasts. Throw in the fun of being with them and we could forget our troubles for a while.

Then the "miracle turn" of the hurricane saved us all.

Instead of being decimated, our homes survived. We have a roof over our head, even if it is a roof with severe leaks.

It's going to be a long recovery. Many homes are still without electricity, gas is extremely hard to come by and grocery shelves are still empty in the few stores that have managed to open.

It's almost impossible to get contractors to repair the damage because they are swamped, especially roofers. The roofer we picked because of his reliability told us he will get to us in December. Meanwhile, every time it rains we cringe, hoping our furniture won't get ruined and hoping an alligator won't find its way into our yard that no longer has a fence.

But I need to stress that none of us are feeling frustrated with these inconveniences. We know we are blessed. We are not demanding service. Let the FPL trucks work in areas harder hit.

We survived, thanks to that miracle turn. We can't stop saying thank you, can't stop feeling grateful.

I rejoiced when I made our bed this morning. I suspect this will always be the case.

Hurricane Irma humbled us and taught us to live in the moment and to be grateful for every single thing.

Please remember in your prayers and in your giving the thousands of people who lost everything. Life will never be the same for them.

And please be more aware of every small blessing you have, including your comfortable bed.

Contact Pattie Mihalik at

newsgirl@comcast.net.