Blue Sky!

Today I woke again to grey cloud obscuring the whole sky. But two hours later, the sun has burned through the film of cloud, and broken it into fluffy chunks. For the first time in days, I can see the sun! I can see the sky! It is gorgeously blue despite all those little grey clouds. Thank God.

I hope I never live to see an ice age. How incredibly depressed I would be.

P.S. O. got lost online researching climate change yesterday, and emerged from the data to declare that Hurricane Sandy happened because of global warming. So... let's slow the carbon emissions down. Way down. Two hurricanes in New Jersey in two years is two too many.

Sandy

Power stayed on all last night and we woke up to a cozy warm house in the midst of a grey, grey day. I hope no one goes trick-or-treating tomorrow. I feel so incredibly grateful to have come through this hurricane with zero damage and really not even any inconvenience. Yeah, O. won't be commuting into Manhattan for several days (trains are down), but hey, that's actually kind of a plus.

Flooded Hoboken and darkened Manhattan

We took a walk this afternoon and saw a lot of trees down, a few wires dangling haplessly, many people wandering the city in pairs or small groups, discussing the damage and taking photos. A short walk from our house is the cliff that overlooks Hoboken and the Manhattan skyline. We stood at its edge with a couple dozen others, staring at the city that never sleeps. No light, no movement. Closer by, Hoboken lay drowning, a hockey rink turned into a swimming pool that no one should swim in, a pickup truck floating like a motorboat in a flooded street.

Welcome to Hoboken, Birthplace of Frank Sinatra and Baseball.

 Apparently the whole city is flooded and powerless. If we hadn't moved here in January, that would have been us. So grateful we moved, and so grateful that this is where we moved to.

My thoughts and prayers to those less fortunate in this disaster.

Hurricane

The sirens return every few minutes. The wind chimes down the block are still going strong, a persistent jangle. The wind drowns them out in a roar, on and off, wildly swinging the telephone wires and power lines and myriad other cables. The street lights are on for the moment, as is the power inside, and with it internet. But down the block the stoplights are blinking red. Stop, go; stop, go. Jangle jangle go the wind chimes.

Inside the lights are on, we just ran the microwave, the heat is still working, we have hot water. On the table are oatmeal raisin cookies with a generous dose of cinnamon--three dozen, less however many we ate. In the refrigerator are two casseroles of pumpkin soup, cooked in the pumpkin itself, which seeped out into the broiler pan and overflowed onto the bottom of the oven. On the counter, the glass pitcher and the soup-pot and all the large bottles stand, filled with drinking water. We have not so much prepared, as hoarded, making all the use we can of these necessary conveniences (power, water, gas), while we can.

The wind picks up again, wheezing between the houses and terrorizing the trees. The wind chimes jangle. I consider again whether we should move our bed away from the window. Is it inevitable that the tree I stare at every morning from my bed should fall tonight, and hit the house? The storm is passing. . .

The wind chimes jangle again as my husband runs water (it still runs!) in the kitchen sink, and opens the refrigerator (still cold!) for something. I consider, and decide in favor of caution, as I always do.