Well, we lost power last night at 8:00 p.m.
This morning the sweetie took a car service (company paid) the 25 miles in to his office because there are no commuter trains running. He may be back Wednesday, leaving me on my own — with a lousy hip, six flights of stairs, cold water and, luckily, lots of flashlights and batteries, candles, food and a cooler I plan to fill today with ice.
Thank heaven he is such a planner! He’ll stay the next few nights in Manhattan with friends.
We had considered ourselves — hah! — unscathed, even seeing blue sky around 4:00 p.m. Sunday. “The back end of a hurricane is always rougher,” Jose warned. And so it was, with the wind whipping much harder then on.
I’m writing this at a local library, where every chair is filled as power-less refugees sit with their laptops.
We sat on the sofa last night and talked. No TV! We went to bed and read by the combination of flashlights and candles but crashed by 9:30.
I am loving the silence: no refrigerator hum, no other people’s TVs or music, no roar of the bathroom fan. I love candlelight, although it makes me long for a few brighter kerosene lanterns instead.
My plan to shower at the Y won’t work — every local YMCA chose this week to close for renovations. I may beg a local friend to let me have a hot shower in a few days. Good thing it isn’t winter!
Trying not to open the fridge too often to keep it cold, and planning to cook all the meat in it this evening, thanks to a gas stove that still works.
It’s semi-pioneer time. To keep the cellphone charged, I plug it into the car while driving. To speak to someone, I have to use the cellphone, but have no urgent engagements until a 30-minute radio interview with a woman in Montreal this Wednesday.
We’ve been largely spared: no flooded basement or roof or car smashed in by plummeting branches. No kids or pets to worry about.
If you were in Hurricane Irene’s path, how are you doing today?