I've always been intrigued by the process of naming hurricanes. And I'm convinced that the names are contrived and assigned by some lonely weather worker who has nothing better to do than to sit in a back room, and come up with names for storms.

But, NOAA Weather people say the naming process is really a very sophisticated process, involving gender sensitive committees, ethnically balanced boards, politically correct commissions, and executive mandates. So NOW, I'm really convinced it's all delegated to a weather worker who has nothing better to do than to sit in a back room, and come up with names!

Hurricanes and lesser storms in our part of the world used to be named only for women. But somewhere around 1978, men's names were included on a 50-50 basis - exactly why, no one knows. But someone griped - the women because they were offended, or us guys because we wanted to be included. Go figure.

My fascination with these names is even more compounded by the fact that as a kid, I was never exposed to even a whisper of a hurricane, nor did I ever hear my parents talk of being in one. I'd never even been near one until getting a news assignment to go COVER one.

And so, last week, came ISABEL. She entered North Carolina, moved up the eastern seaboard through Virginia, just over Washington DC, and by then, a pooped-out but still destructive storm moved all the way through central and western Pennsylvania, Ohio, and out into the lakes.

It's interesting that my parents, who now reside in Arlington National Cemetery outside DC, finally got to witness a hurricane, first hand... God bless their souls. And, I'm sure my sainted Mother took a special interest.

Oh, mom's name? Why, Isabel, of course!