Goodnight Irene...

I have given you all a few days to digest from all the Hurricane Irene info we were force fed for days prior to, during and after the Hurricane of 2011. (so far) I have allowed a few days to pass so that all or most have their power back on and their lives back to normal. I have even waited until the headlines reverted back to more un-‘natural’ disasters, like the plummeting stock market and upcoming elections. But holding it is has almost caused me to bust…so allow me…..

Friday: Everyone went shopping. Everyone bought water, flashlights and batteries. Bread, milk and eggs. I bought Twizzlers.

For two days I lived on those Twizzlers. First black, then cherry. I didn’t have to, there was plenty of food. I had fried 3 pounds of chicken cutlets and there was steak and meatballs in gravy in the freezer. I had tuna and peanut butter and three different cereals. There were some cold cuts and several different fruits. But the logical choice every time I was hungry was….Twizzlers. Not only did my sugar go through the roof, I gained 3 pounds and my shit is green….ok, I know WAY too much info. Sorry…

The proverbial calm before the storm, the sun was shining and not a hint of wind but I was in prepared mode. I watched CNN, MSNBC, the Weather Channel, any channel that had a map with a swirl and a dotted line slowly moving up the eastern seaboard. I found myself doodling the map on napkins, mail and even my hand. (it was like something out of Close Encounters of the Third Kind) Friday night I had a play to go to just over the Marine Parkway bridge….in Rockaway. Yes, Rockaway the now being evacuated Rockaway. As we drove over the bridge and I looked at the waters surrounding us, I felt brave and daring. I stared Irene in the eye! Ok so that is a bit over-exaggerating….the water was calm and still…so far! I came home and spent the rest if the night watching Irene creep up the coast.

Saturday: I woke to find my husband getting ready for work.

“Where you going?“

“Work”

“Are you kidding, if you go in today you won’t be able to leave.“

“Nah, probably be home early”

Guess who was right?!

I spent the day no more than 15 feet from any TV in the house. I didn’t want to miss a single second. I wanted to hear who was being evacuated, what idiots refused to leave, and relished in the videos of newscasters being blown around. The storm was still three states away. By four o’clock it was apparent my husband wasn’t gonna get home in time for Irene, and although I checked that his life insurance policy was paid in full, I didn’t want him traveling in the midst of her wrath. I fried cutlets. Pounds and pounds of cutlets. I am not sure why, it just seemed like the thing to do during a hurricane. The wind was picking up just a bit and it was now raining, but the house was filled with the amazing smell of garlic and cheese, the air conditioning was keeping the stifling humidity at bay, and my all-channel Irene coverage was in full swing. My plan was to cut patterns, sew and generally keep busy ‘not’ cleaning. As the sky darkened and the storm was two, and then quickly one, state away….I text my husband. The storm was getting bad and if he was coming home he should do so now. It would be the last nice text he got until he got home in the morning. I organized my emergency plan. Candles in the kitchen, flashlights in the dining room, ice being made and of course, Twizzlers. I laid on the couch trying to position myself in a way so that if the tree in front blew in my picture window I could spring to my feet with cat like reflexes and dodge disaster. (yeah, ok) Bloomberg repeating not to go near the windows wasn’t helping matters. I sat up. I moved to the recliner. I turned the recliner around to face away from the window, which unfortunately was away from the TV. I laid on the floor. I relocated to behind the recliner by slithering like a slug. I was immediately joined by my stinky dog who remarkably doesn’t stink anymore. I fell asleep.

Sunday: I opened my eyes just as a bead of sweat was dripping onto my nose. The room was dark. The TV off. The dog (and me) panting. The worst had happened….the power was off. More importantly the AC was off.  I sprung to my feet (ya didn’t by the whole ‘sprung’ thing did ya?) and made my way into the kitchen to light my candle. Should have figured on matches in my emergency plan! I dug through the silverware draw only slightly slicing my finger and found a book of matches. Candle lit….check! I went back into the dining room, found the flashlight and put it on pointing it toward and illuminating the TV screen. (I can dream can’t I) The rain was driving, the wind howling and I had no idea where I had put the Twizzlers. I sat at the far end of the couch staring at the miniscule amount of power I left on my cell phone and went on Facebook. Everyone, was there. Everyone with mobile capability and battery life.  Mine was dwindling fast.  I thought about going out to my car and charging it from there, but the tree above my car was swaying more than I cared to brave. I picked up my phone and used what little power I had left to tell my husband what a crud he was for being in the air conditioned, well lit hospital where he worked while I sat sweating in the darkness. Just then….. a huge thud. I looked out and saw nothing but swinging trees so I decided to retreat to the couch and stay there until morning. It was 2:30am.

I remembered that I had a battery operated radio in my junk draw. Not crazy about rummaging around there in the dark, but since I had already cut my finger looking for matches I dove in. I felt a cord that I was sure was part of the radio. It wasn’t. It was a personal alarm that screams an ungodly sound when the pin is pulled out. That cord pulled the pin out. The high pitched screams were only muffled by the high pitched screaming in my head and my god damn dog barking. I found the alarm, put back the pin, stifled the noise including the dog and used the candle to light my way back to the couch. I blew it out since I was afraid to leave it lit where the dog could easily knock it over. (I figure he may want to pay me back for the earlier alarm fiasco) I sat in the dark with my little pink battery operated radio that only got 3 channels…..two of which broadcast in Spanish. It didn’t, however, take a linguist to figure out ‘Mucho Grande Hurricano en Nuevo York’ meant the waiting was over. Irene had arrived. As I sat sweating and cursing my husband I remembered where I had left the Twizzlers and promptly and carefully made my way to retrieve them with the extinguished candle.

For the next two hours I sat there totally missing my eastern seaboard map with its swirling and dotted lines. I sat perched up with a snack tray in front of me that held my cell phone which was dead, my house phone which was equally dead, the remote for a TV that wouldn’t work and an empty bag of black Twizzlers. Things were going from bad to worse. And then as my dog growled, my front door opened. Was this really happening? Was I being robbed, now? Really? REALLY? Hadn’t I had enough for one night? The sound of the driving rain got louder as the door opened wider, and as the dog growled harder I grabbed the flashlight and shone it on the intruder. My soaking wet husband, lit up like a prowler, said “it’s just me!”. I wish I had been armed, I could have gotten away with murder. It was 530am.

The hours leading up to daylight were pretty mundane.  By daybreak I was speaking to my husband again and in the light of day the wind and rain didn't seem quite so bad.  We found the origin of the thud...part of the tree in my yard was now leaning on my neighbors house.  The spiders that were trying desperately to get out of the plastic bags I had encased my hanging plants in when I brought them inside would soon be free to terrorize once more.  I anxiously awaited the storm to pass so I could bring my patio set back outside and of course buy more Twizzlers.

shake, rattle and a buttered roll........

Yesterday there was an earthquake in Virginia that was felt all the way up the east coast to New York City. Everyone has a story to tell about where they were, how they felt, how scared they got. Me, not so much. I was eating (what a shock!) lunch in the city with a friend after a rather boring exhibit in Times Square, and I missed the earth moving under my feet. (apologies to Carole King) The exhibit was, fitting enough, the ruins of Pompeii when Mount Vesuvius erupted back in 79AD and covered Pompeii in ash and lava. The exhibit was coupled with the Harry Potter exhibit which for an additional $14 you could see both. Never a Harry fan, we just opted for Pompeii and its molten residents.

The crowds lined up to see rocks…..basically. Not moon rocks, or even lava rocks…they were cement rocks…casts of people who apparently were too slow to out run the lava flow. And to add insult to injury, they were not the real bodies, (those were either melted or disintegrated) they were casts they made when they found that inside the hardened rock-like lava was an empty hole. So some genius archeologist said, ‘let’s fill it will cement to see what it used to be.’ And guess what, dead people! (“Let’s make an exhibit and charge the tourists and unsuspecting Brooklynites way too much and have an overpriced gift shop at the exit”) In fairness, there were two, no…three interesting things in the exhibit. One was the dead dog mold which looks like my dog when he is sleeping upside down, legs in the air….until I read the caption that said that the dog probably died climbing higher and higher to beat the lava flow and choked to death because his lousy Pompeiian owner never unleashed the dog before fleeing. Lovely. The second thing was the ‘sex for sale’ exhibit, cleverly hidden behind wall warning of its unsuitability for children where everything from paintings to plates depicted someone doing something to someone. Damn those Italians were kinky. Short, but kinky. The third thing was the Buddy Valestro (Cake Boss) life-sized cut out that we posed for pictures with. It was our free souvenier. I didn’t need a $12 coaster that looked like a broken tile, I didn’t want a imitation lava rock for $9 or even a t-shirt that wouldn’t have fit anyway with a picture of an erupting Mount Vesuvius for $26 (the same amount it cost to get in the exhibit) so the gift shop was a bust. We wandered into the Harry Potter gift shop and there were people dressed as wizards and owls. And they didn’t work there!! We left, looking forward to lunch. The earthquake was about a half hour away at this point.

Times Square was the typical circus it always is. We went into Lidz where I bought NY Mets hats for my traitor grandsons and was talked into buying a discount card for future purchases by a quick and savvy salesboy salesman, and then the Yankees store for my grandson who has stayed true to the pinstripes. $75 dollars later I have souveniers. (My granddaughter got stiffed!) Still no earthquake. We walked the two blocks towards the parking lot and found a rather interesting looking restaurant. We were offered a seat in front by the window, but after being seated we realized that the view was that of the side of a parked moving truck and besides, the wicker seats just did not sit well with my ass. (even with all my padding) We moved to the back of the restaurant with minimally better seating….ditto our view. At this point the earthquake hit and we had felt nothing. The waiter laughingly asked if we wanted bread. He brought a basket and a small bowl of….ummm, chick pea paste? Maybe hummus?? Looked like something beige and pasty in oil. Hungrily we buttered it on the bread and it was delicious. I had an omelet with asparagus and a glass of house merlot, my friend had fish and chips. (considering she is Irish I thought this a bit disloyal) We speculated about the men lunching at a discreet corner table…were the observably gay couple married, planning on getting married, or having an innocuous affair. Either way we never considered them to be straight which was terribly unwarranted since they could have been saying the same about the two woman sitting in the other corner…us! I went to look up something on my cell phone and had no service. Just then a phone call from my friends job informed us that there had just been an earthquake. And then the call went dead. I tried using the internet. Nothing. I tried calling my kids. Nothing. One by one all the calls checking up on us came through. And everyone of them had felt the earthquake. The most vibration we had felt thus far was during the fake volcanic eruption at Pompeii exhibit. Since we had missed the movement, we decided on dessert. Or at least that’s what I told myself. Two coffees and a Creamsicle Crème Brulee to share. (Let’s give the corner guys something to talk about!) Lunch was sumptuous and quite expensive considering I had what equated to a diner meal…except for the beige pasty stuff which I personally though classed up the menu.

 

We walked out of the restaurant and saw no evidence of an earthquake. No panicking, no running, no one looking skyward for falling buildings. Just tourists looking at maps and street vendors hawking cheap t-shirts. Had he thought quick enough he could have sold dozens of I SURVIVED THE EARTHQUAKE OF 2011. I’d have bought one, even if it didn’t fit.

Pillows and Peter

So far the summer of 2011 has proven to be both fun and relaxing, exciting and restful. Yes quite a contradiction, but that seems to be my life. Highs and lows with no rhyme or reason.

My husband and I went with a friend to my condo upstate. For some rest, some fresh air, and for me quite frankly, Peter Lemongello. You remember Peter…his Love ‘76 album that sold millions long before Ron Popiel even knew what infomercials were. His face and smile was as much an attention-grabber as his silky sexy voice. He was performing as he has done in the past at a Catskill nightclub. For some reason my husband enjoys watching me make an ass out of myself elbowing old ladies out of the way to get the best seats in the house…front row, center. When I get to the front of the club there is a woman who I have seen many times at his shows. She is probably a bigger groupie than I am but since she is in a wheelchair she was able to get reserved seating. Bitch! Ok so we sat front row, off center. That will have to do. I text a picture of her to my grandsons who, like my husband, get a kick out of knowing that I am like a school girl with a crush when I go to his shows. As he sang and we both swooned, I considered things I could do to “Miss Wheelchair Groupie…but considered the karma aspect and refrained. Instead we ordered drinks and settled in for a great show. I’ll get her next time!

The next day my husband went to a financial seminar at the hotel. The financial wizard apparently also does card tricks and taught the class some tricks to entertain the grandkids. For the next two days my husband practiced his slight of hand, which quite frankly was slight of…well, skill. By the time he finally got to show off for his grandkids he was a master…trouble was they were more interested in whether or not my fish was dead. The distracted audience were only slightly impressed by Papa’s magical talents.

Even though it is only mid August, the Back to School signs are everywhere so I thought I would stop into Kohls to buy some things for the boys. Evidently so did every other parent and grandparent in the free world. The parking lot was full. I circled the lot a few times, eyed the handicapped spots but drove on, circled some more, even considered parking in the pregnant woman’s spot in front of Babies R Us (I can and do pass as pregnant unfortunately) but then decided to just park on the other side of the massive lot and use it as an exercise stratagem. I found a spot and trekked my way to Kohls. Found a wagon…busted wheel. Found another….squeaked like I had run over an injured animal. Found a third….another busted wheel. I’ll just carry my stuff. I headed for the elevator. When the doors opened there was an Asian family inside with baby carriages and unbroken wagons. They made no move to get out and the doors closed. I really gave it no thought until a line had formed behind me now as we waited for the elevator to return. The doors open and guess who is still in the elevator, and still not moving. I asked, nicely….are you getting out? No answer. The lady behind me said rather loudly, “what are they doing?” I had no idea so I asked again, less nicely…are you getting out? They looked at one another, said and did nothing, and then the doors began to close again. I put my foot in the door stopping it from closing just as a huge Russian man with a crew cut and a dragon tattoo on his neck came from the back of the line, and I kid you not, in perfect (I think) Cantonese asked them what they were doing. They smiled, answered him and simply got out. I have no idea what had just transpired, but I was now in the elevator packed with people and babies and working wagons on my way up to the 2nd floor. We all briefly commented on what the hell had just happened and wished that Igor had gotten on with us so that we could ask him how he knew Chinese.

 

I picked out ‘cool’ clothes for my three grandsons, at least clothes that I thought were cool….looked at sheets that cost more than my damn mattress and made my way to the escalator. Didn’t care to attempt another ride on the Oriental Express. The lines were long but thanks to my clever eye I spotted a shorter line at the very front of the store. I got on line and immediately regretted it. One guy in front of me, three pillows, how long could it possibly take?? One pillow had no price tag…the light goes on for management. The cashier rings the other two pillows as she waits for someone to come over and price the third. The man shows her that the pillows are all the same. She agrees but waits for a manager. As I watch the other lines emptying out one at a time I contemplate switching lines always worried that that one would come to a dead halt as the original one sped up. Decisions, decisions! When the manager arrives, agrees that all three pillows are the same and I think I am in the clear….she needs a SKU number and off she goes to get one. Like a football player with a playbook, I manuever with my pile of clothes from register 2 to register 4 only to be told she is closed and so I quickly regroup and move to register 7. One person in front of me with…no, can’t be….a pillow! (must have been a sale) I asked if there was a price tag on it and she looked at me like I had asked for her social security number. I started feebly explaining why I was asking and she simply turned her back and put the pillow on the counter. A tag….Eureka! One, two, three and I was next. I had just maneuvered myself to the head of the line while pillow-boy was still waiting for his SKU. A few minor glitches at my register and I still made it out before him. I smiled as I carried my bag passed his register.

 

As I walked out into the ridiculously humid air I realized that I had parked in God’s country. I trudged through the parking lot dragging my bag of school clothes snarling and sneering at the people parking in the handicap spots. ‘So your crippled…big friggin’ deal’ I thought….and then my hip decided to twinge a bit and I thought OK OK I get it, lay off the handicapped. I made it to my car, threw my bags in the back, turned the AC on super-throttle and went into my pocketbook for my phone. I eyed my wallet nestled inside and couldn’t recall putting my credit card back. I looked and it wasn’t there. Damn it…I knew that cashier looked shady. I was NOT walking back to the store so I drove hoping my card was there waiting for me. Of course there still were no spots other than the pregnant woman ones. It’s a boy! (guess where I parked) I got out of the car and went in ready to argue with the cashier for not returning my card when a smile suddenly crossed my face. Pillow boy….still there! When I got to register 7 I realized that she never had my card, that I swiped it in the little machine myself. I leaned on one of the broken wagons and checked my bag again for the elusive card. Not where it should have been, but there none-the-less. Dripping with sweat and feeling like an ass, I made my way passed pillow boy who was now waiting for his pillows to be squished into a not large enough plastic bag. I got to my oh-so-closely-parked car pretending to be pregnant. Two very really pregnant people gave me dirty looks. Hey, I beat pillow boy, found my credit card and not really pregnant…what more could I ask for. It was a good day!