Tuesday, August 29, 2006

from the bunker

Well, it's been a bit like hunkering down in some hardened-concrete Führer-bunker, pulling on one's gasmask & flak jacket, & then realizing that the much-anticipated attack was only a couple of kids throwing snowballs – and only a couple of snowballs.

Ernesto was supposed to come ashore between midnight & 2AM as a tropical storm – possibly even a weak hurricane. I spent much of today on preparations: putting up about half of our storm shutters (in the process straining an already strained wrist – too many "swing me again, Daddy"s – to where I couldn't use it without an ace bandage) (and oh yeah, almost breaking my ankle in the inevitable drop from the second floor roof, which is too long a story to go into), moving everything that could possibly move that was outside inside, waiting in line for gas, finding space for all those extra gallons of water, etc.

And now the radar shows that the storm has arrived early & is probably about halfway over, without giving us anything more than an average summer afternoon thundershower packs.

This is of course karma: if I hadn't put up the shutters, we'd be sweeping rain out of the closets.

3 comments:

E. M. Selinger said...

A pain in the chops, Mark, but I'm glad that you and yours are all OK. Watch those strains! I ended up unable to type for months a couple years back after some combination of catch (for nigh an hour, mind you), bad computer posture, and some flatpicking Scottish piece with a nasty reach for the pinky.

--E

Archambeau said...

Mark,

I hope the yurt's okay!

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