Next Stop Krakow?

I'm buckled in and cruising down the runway, 9 hours from Warsaw. With any luck, and some borrowed pharmaceuticals, I will sleep for at least a portion of this flight. So far, so good with this adventure, although I am barely 8 hours into the experience.

Anticipating thanksgiving traffic and extensive security lines, we (going forward all mentions of "we" unless otherwise specified, are me and my boss, I'll call him DJ) leave Hartford at 10:30 am for a 6:40 pm flight. Perhaps a bit over cautious, but we agreed better safe than sorry. Worst case scenario we have some extra time to shop duty-free in the international terminal. The ride is quite pleasant, we are being driven in a BMW 750 something (I am not a car person, but it was nice ) and arrive in record time by 1:00 pm, maybe earlier. So quickly in fact that we have 2 plus hours until we can even check our luggage; the $5 investment in the luggage cart is well worth it. We do many laps around the food and shopping concourse, visit the restrooms, stop and chat with other travelers from our group, grab a fast lunch and repeat the whole process, minus the lunch, multiple times. Check in time finally arrives and I end up being that person at the airport (who we all make fun of) whose luggage is overweight and have to shamefully open and redistribute in front of the mocking crowd. To be fair, it was my carry on that was the culprit, and I intentionally overloaded it. When was the last time someone weighed your carry on? Doesn't make me feel all that secure when the counter agent instructs me to put the overage in my larger checked luggage, because "she already weighed that one, and it was good." Good reasoning, I'm sure that the 6 kilos that I moved from the overhead compartment to the luggage bay made all the difference in overall flying weight. Oh well, Lot Airlines, the official airline of the Polish people, their rules, I am just a passenger.

After checking our individual seat assignments, one row behind each other, we decide to request new seats to share a two-seater section of the 2 - 3 - 2 configuration. Success, or so we thought, until we realized that our new location was in row 34, out of the possible 37. I decide to focus on the bright side, for a 9 hour flight it's not a bad idea to be close to the restroom. Settling in at the gate I start the process of getting to know my traveling companions; DJ has been a part of this professional circle for a longtime and it seems like one big reunion for him. I am not shy, but I'm feeling a little less confidant than usual, perhaps a bit tired. Slowly but surely I ease into introductions and small talk. I go easy on the "Jewish geography"; sometimes I can be a slightly annoying with an endless barrage of "do you know so and so, I went to (fill in the blank) with them?" If you are currently nodding your head in agreement with my previous statement, keep it to yourself, I am very self aware. I am certain that I committed less than 25% of the names to memory, let alone what JCC they are from, but give me a day or so and I will have it down (including assorted extraneous details of their lives). More than likely I will discover less than six degrees of separation with most, less than challenging in the already narrow demographic of JCC professionals.

The flight, (at this point I am about 1:15 minutes from landing in Warsaw) has been relatively uneventful. No crying babies (strike that, screams currently developing on my left), no awkward seatmate (only DJ), and no white knuckle turbulence. We were served two hot meals, the first of which was something called "dumplings", with an unidentifiable brown filling, accompanied by the ingredients for a minimalist make-your-own sandwich and the second was some sort of a ham and cheese breakfast sub. I preferred the latter, but wouldn't order it in a restaurant. We watched a movie, Legends of the Fall, together (the head phone splitter jack was a useful gadget) which took care of close to 3 hours of flying time. I attempted sleep with a Tylenol PM (chickened out on the prescription option) and failed other than a glorified nap. I'm sensing a VERY long day ahead.

Picking up where I left off, it is now Tuesday morning and I most definitely understated the "length" of Monday. We arrived in Warsaw around 9:30 am and did not check in at our hotel until roughly 9 pm. In between we spent 80% of the day outside exploring the rich and powerful history of Warsaw. The cold wind and freezing temperatures as the early sunshine faded to grey and then black made a difficult day even more raw. More than once, I was sure that if I closed my eyes, even while standing, I would simply drift off and fall to the ground. I did my best not to be a baby, but I felt like crying like a 10-year old on a long family car trip, "how much longer?" I did my best to stay focused, but the exhaustion was overwhelming. (Details of the days events can be found on a new "work" blog, www.postcardfromthemandelljcc.blogspot.com). Within minutes of checking in to our Warsaw hotel I am rewarded with a long hot shower. Afterwards, I visit the lobby to take advantage of the free wi-fi and have a nightcap (Polish Beer) with DJ and a new friend. Sleep comes quickly after that, as does the wake up call at 5:45 am. I arrived on time for breakfast at 6:30 (not surprising, I love hotel breakfast) and fortify with fruit, yogurt and strong coffee.

I'm back on the bus, sitting with the "cool" people in the back, facing another physical and emotional marathon. When night falls I will be in Krakow; never expected those words would come out of my mouth. Apparently the itinerary of my personal "journey" still has a few surprises in store for me. I'm enjoying the diversion, as long as all roads still lead me back home.

Procrastination, Writer's Block and other Excuses...

Not sure if anyone is still out there, but I'm here and trying to figure out where the last 12 days or so have gone. I'd love to say that there was some overwhelming issue which prevented me from writing. It would be so much easier to blame my absence on Internet connectivity, stolen computers or abduction by hostile forces, but in reality the blame lies solely on my shoulders. Let me back track to where I fell off the wagon, which would land me on November 10th, the day after my "Daddy" blog. I gave myself the next day off to regroup and recover, fully intending to return with something lighthearted on the 11th. Unfortunately, that was the day that Scott requested my presence in Arlington, Virginia with the balance of his belongings for his new apartment. If you remember back to storm Alfred, he left for his new job in the midst of our "powerlessness" with just a suitcase of clothing to get him thought the first week or so. Shortly thereafter he signed a lease for a new apartment, first one without parental co-signing, and made plans to get off his friends couch as soon as possible. All of which required immediate transport of his "stuff" to his new home and the quick purchase of a bed and all other household necessities; please let this be the last bed I purchase for him. Because I am such a good Mom or more likely because I love to see him so happy (translation: he's so nice to me when he's not cranky), I was in my Honda pilot and on the road to Virginia within 24 hours of his newly signed lease. The car was filled with all his worldly goods, clothing, flat-screen TV, and the XBOX. The remaining space held all the stuff that I thought he would need or want, bedding, towels, pots & pans (again, please let this be the last trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond for him) and the most important food  items to get him started, cocoa kripsies, cinnamon toast crunch, pasta and sauce and wheat thins. I happily included laundry detergent and bounce and bid farewell to the dirty clothing I would no longer be washing. I managed to squeeze in a few random furniture items from the basement and a stolen street sign from his last college address (I got big points for that inclusion). So back to my excuses ... that Friday was a full-on road trip with an extended stay waiting to go over the GW Bridge and a lovely rush hour trip through DC into Virginia. We unloaded the car at 7 pm, had a quick dinner together, did some more shopping and I was back at my hotel by 9 pm. I could have spent the night writing, after all the hotel bar was not the least bit "hopping" and drinking alone at a hotel bar is not really my style (only seemed exciting with George Clooney in Up in the Air), but I was easily distracted with television, a magazine or two and good old Facebook.  Saturday morning I was back on the road by 7:30 for a relatively easy trip home, pulling in my driveway in record time at 1:30 (including 3 stops - 7-11 for coffee, refueling and an Annie's pretzel on the Jersey Turnpike and a bathroom stop). Did I take the afternoon to write about my travels? No I did not, although there were some interesting observations, which I will get back to in the future. Why, well that evening we were headed to a Children's Hospital fundraiser and I had some prep work to do. Showering, nails, and rest occupied the remainder of my day and the evening was a good time with friends and a little too much alcohol.  You would think that Sunday would be the perfect day to sleep off the Patron Cafe nightcap, enjoy my Sunday paper, morning coffee and write, but that my friends, was not the case. I had a gallery exhibit opening at 3 pm and had left the details unfinished because of my impromptu trip to Scott. Thus, there was no lazy sleep, breakfast was Advil and chugged coffee, there was no CBS or Charles Osgood and the paper was left untouched on the island.  It was already dark when I left work and although I can't remember exactly, I'm pretty sure my next stop was my pillow.

Moving on, Monday November 14th, back to work, no time or energy to write before I got there. Busy day still catching up on the ten days out of the office from the storm and a Webinar in the middle of the day about my upcoming trip to Poland and Israel. This segment was a somber installment about Auschwitz; not exactly the topic that gets me in the mood for lighthearted blogging.  No down time in the afternoon, just enough to go home, change my clothes and head back to work for a book event with Senator Joseph Lieberman. My work day ended at 10 pm and sleep was my only priority. Tuesday morning arrived and it was hair color day; sorry too busy chatting with the technician about the Real Housewives of New Jersey to focus on posting, and then back to work for the afternoon.  Any down time was occupied with sending David a 21st birthday package of love from home (its contents: alcohol, bagels, sour patch kids, gummy bears and $100, every 21-year olds fantasy package - the iPhone arrived a few weeks earlier ).  I have no excuse for Wednesday and Thursday except that I didn't feel like it, too tired - not inspired. I will say that I did reintroduce myself to the lonely elliptical in my basement and had some very enjoyable workouts instead of writing, so all was not lost. Friday finally arrived, my much needed day off, and yet no words made the page. I wish I could say the hours were filled with important, productive activities, but I would be lying; I have no idea what I accomplished besides a few loads of laundry. Friday night was a thought provoking evening at the Connecticut Forum, a pseudo-intellectual series we have been attending for almost 15 years. This segment was called "Creative Minds" and the panelists included Lyle Lovett, Dave Eggars, Jonah Lehrer and Miranda July, moderated by Randy Cohen. Other than Lyle, I had no idea who any of them were prior to the event, but all were brilliant and interesting. We were treated to a beautiful performance by Lovett and unique insights about creativity from the others. A quote from Lehrer quickly typed into my iPhone,  "Creativity is the residue of wasted time" , left me feeling good about all the time I had wasted, creative genius was surely just around the corner.  I was sure that I left inspired to write on Saturday; even drafting an outline in my head through most of the car ride home. But alas, Saturday came and went with random errands during the day and concluded with a family Bat Mitzvah in the evening and too much Bacardi. Now we're in the homestretch ... Sunday started at 10 am after sleeping off the Rum and excessive stage-dancing (it's the fun side of the family) and continued with a full closet cleaning (this was an absolute necessity, there was no visible carpet space), laundry and dinner with friends. No explanation for last night, just being rebellious, and a long walk with the dog (another procrastination technique discovered of late).

So here we are, Monday, November 21st, and this will get posted tonight (even though it is now 6:19 and I have meeting at work from 7 - 8:30). It may not be my best work, take it as a peace offering. To sum up my MIA days I would have to say that I did enjoy being a little lazy, I only felt guilty occasionally, and the dog walking and the elliptical were both positive outcomes. I played a lot of solitaire on my computer (my version of electronic doodling) which according the creative geniuses of the Connecticut Forum, it is necessary to engage in mindless activities to refocus the brain. At this point, I am hoping I am sufficiently un-blocked for a while. There are bound to be some dry patches ahead with Thanksgiving and my trip, but I'll do my best to post something just to let you know I'm still here. I hope you haven't found another blogger who is more interesting or consistent (even though I was threatened with defection by some of my most loyal, you know who you are). No more excuses, I simply had to handle the journey alone for a bit. My passenger seat is available again, if you're ready, hop in and buckle up.

Deep Breath, Tissue, Proceed ...

November 9th, 1998 is the dividing line, everything before has since been categorized as "before my father died." This is going to be harder than I thought; one sentence and I'm crying. Deep Breath, Tissue, Proceed. 13 years without him; all 3 of the boys Bar Mitzvahs, 2 high school graduations, one college graduation and every happy and sad moment in between, all without Papa Burt, all without my Daddy. Seems strange to use that word, Daddy, I don't think I have referred to him that way since he's been gone (except alone, when I whisper my thoughts to him). I was 36 years old when he died and spent every last second until then as "Daddy's little girl," certainly helps when you have two brothers. After that day, it’s always my Dad or my Father; never thought about how much I miss just saying Daddy. Deep Breath, Tissue, Proceed.

It was a Monday; Believe it or not, I start most Mondays thinking about that. Mostly because it was just a regular day, like all the Mondays before it, and yet by 3 pm the world as I knew it ceased to exist. I woke up with a healthy, 61-year-old father that lived a mile away and went to bed that night without one. He went to work, just a regular Monday, went to court (lawyer, not criminal), came back to the office, had a heart attack and died, just like that. No lingering illness, no long good-byes, no hospital visits, no passing go, no second chances, no joke; he was just gone in an instant. I remember almost every moment of November 9th, 1998; snippets play out in slow motion far too often even after 13 years.  Certain parts I can't piece together no matter how hard I try. I know I was driving Hebrew school carpool and went to my then sister-in-laws house to pick up my nephews. I was standing in her driveway when she told me that he had a heart attack but no other details; his office had called my brother who worked nearby. I remember slumping down on the asphalt and that she took my car to drop the kids at temple. I have no idea how I got back home, only 3 doors away so I suppose I walked. I sat on my front step and looked at the bright blue sky, much the same as the one I am looking at today, and my heart already knew what I hadn't yet been told, he was gone. I felt it deep inside my soul; a part of me was already missing. My mom didn't know anything yet and unfortunately I was the one who had to somehow find the words to tell her. I don't know how I found her, did she have a cell phone then? Must have, because I got her on the phone and asked her to come to my house because I needed help with the kids. She knew something was wrong, heard it in my voice, but didn't press me for details. As soon as I hung up, I knew I didn't have the strength to do this alone and called old friends of my parents, the two people who I knew could get both of us through this. They arrived within minutes, not sure if it was before or after my mom, that whole part is a giant blur. I have no recollection of the words I used to tell her that her husband of 40 years was gone; at some point before that my brother called to confirm what I already knew. More fuzzy memories of a trip to the hospital to say goodbye, wish I hadn't done that part, but I couldn't let my mom do it alone. Luckily my brain has mostly eliminated that visual and replaced it with the one I see every time I think of him, sparkling blue eyes and a giant smile. Jeffrey must have met me at the hospital and I know I spoke to RW within minutes of when I found out. The rest of the night is also spotty, telling the kids, my younger brother arriving (his own wedding, just 6 days away, is suddenly not what this week was about). Friends and family in and out all night, I can’t let my mother out of my sight, afraid she will slip away from the sadness. We spent that night together in my bed, not a lot of sleeping or talking, just two broken people trying to make sense of the last 12 hours and how we would face all the hours ahead without him.

It’s not necessary to go into detail about the days immediately following, obviously a funeral (Suddenly I can’t remember if I spoke, I know my mother wrote something and had a friend read it when she could not). There were days of Shiva, hundreds and hundreds of people sharing their stories of my father. The laughter made me angry but the stories made me happy, if that makes any sense. Every morning I woke up and tried to imagine that it was all a very bad nightmare and if I called him at the office he would answer. For a while, I called just to hear his voice in the message, and then at some point the message and the extension were gone. Weeks and months went by and I felt like I would never be happy again. I cried in the car, I cried at night in the dark, I cried in the shower; I tried not to cry when I spoke to my mother. There is a strange phenomenon that happens when you lose a parent, and I’ve discussed this with many friends who have unfortunately shared my experience, in some ways you lose the other parent too. As the only daughter, we switched roles for a long while as I “mothered” her. My mom is a remarkable woman who faced every day since with her head up, refusing to let most of the world see her grief. The bulk of it was saved for me, at the end of the day in long, sad phone calls. In June of 2010, she married another wonderful man from Yale who gives her all the love and joy and happiness that she deserves. On that beautiful day, I finally stopped worrying about her and we returned to mother and daughter, the way it’s supposed to be.

I became a different person that day 13 years ago, a little broken but a little stronger. I take less for granted and most things less seriously. Every happy moment is a little bittersweet without him, but I share the details when I quietly talk to him when I’m alone. Today I went to the cemetery, actually wrote part of this sitting in my car, still hard to see his name on that stone. I used to visit more often; it was my hiding spot when I needed a place to think things through (still running to daddy for help I guess), but I’ve gone less and less in the last few years. I’m hoping its because I don’t need to run away as much or maybe my heart knows he’s with me all the time if I need him. I take comfort in the fact that he never suffered, and my memories will always be of my handsome young father. I’m glad that all of my boys have real memories of their Papa Burt; he loved being a grandfather most of all. We tell stories all the time, and as they grow from boys to men I see pieces of him in what they do and who they are.  

I was blessed to have lived most of my life within minutes of his front door. I see his face staring back at me in the mirror every day, a more feminine version I hope and without the blue eyes, but I am my father’s daughter. I have missed him every hour of every day for the last 13 years. The pain never goes away, it just gets a little bit duller with the passing of time. He was the smartest man I ever knew; he made me laugh and occasionally he made me angry, but most of all, I never doubted, not even for a second, how much he loved me. In the end, even at 49 years old, I am just a little girl who misses her Daddy. Deep Breath, Tissue, Proceed ...

Let There Be Light...

It is Tuesday morning, November 8th and I would estimate that I am at a 95% personal restoration rate. Let me explain, I last sat at this island enjoying my morning coffee on Saturday, October 29th, blissfully unaware of what Storm Alfred and the days ahead would hold in store for me. You were introduced to the historic October snowstorm in my regretfully mocking blog written as the first few flakes fell and quickly finished as the lights went dark. It was posted at some point during the last 10 days (I honestly lost track of the individual days, with no markers to distinguish them), and even then, as I acknowledged my underestimation of Alfred's power, I had yet to grasp the magnitude of his impact. I am going to offer a condensed version of what happened during the 10+ days of what many have labeled "Snowmageddon." The highlights will certainly paint a clear enough picture and so many of you were right there in the trenches with me that the details are not necessary.

Quickly rolling back to the beginning, that first Saturday night (inconceivable that this spanned 2 of them) was dark and cold, but certainly manageable. We had a wok-cooked dinner (gas stove) and made a nice fire. Scott gave up early with no TV or Internet, and went to bed at 7pm. I spent a good part of the evening in my car, charging my cell phone and my iPad. As I posted at that time on Facebook, I wasn't sure if that was pathetic or smart, I will now confirm it was most definitely the latter. Those two devices were my connection to the outside world and my full tank of gas and car charger kept them alive. We crawled into bed at 10 pm, plenty warm but missing my television. The overnight hours were a symphony of cracking tree limbs and howling winds. Sunday morning revealed the eerie details of the devastation right outside my own front door. We were literally trapped in our house, fallen trees blocking the street on either side of our driveway. These were not branches, to my left was a toppled 100-year old willow tree; a white Lexus oddly stuck in the hole left by the roots ripped from the earth (further investigation revealed a late night driver attempted to "go around" the blockage; I am fairly certain there was alcohol involved). To my right, another set of giant limbs; an unsuccessful attempt at movement by a snowplow was somewhat entertaining. Downed power lines dangled eerily in the middle of the street, which was now a maze of trees and archways created by the haphazard falls of trunks and limbs. The blue sky of late morning brought out most of the neighbors to share in the curiosity of what looked like a snow coved war zone. Soon enough the hum of chain saws cut a pathway out on the right and kids in snow suits explored the neighborhood while nervous parents kept them away from the black wires cutting through the snow. I ingeniously (ok, Jeffrey gave me the idea) poured water boiled on the stove through the coffee maker and enjoyed my morning Joe as usual. I made Andrew a great breakfast of scrambled eggs and cheese on a skillet grilled English muffin and Scott stayed cocooned in his bed until at least midday. Jeffrey happily spent his morning with the snow blower and the chain saw; he is the unique breed of Jewish husband who loves his power tools. I made contact with my "girls," hiding out at the house with the generator and planned our first escape to warmth and companionship. We packed up what we needed for a possible night out, not expecting much would be repaired on a Sunday, and still relatively unaware of the storms statewide powerlessness. The journey to LFL's house was a tricky passage under wires and trees scraping the roof of my car, but we arrived safely and settled in for the day. 9 of us hung out all day, treated to a delicious hot lunch "thrown together" by my friend who somehow manages to elevate pantry basics to gourmet with zero stress or effort. Dessert was Halloween candy, already assuming that trick or treating was not likely for the following day. Slowly but surely we learned that our town, and nearly 60% of the state was without power and this was looking to be a long-term situation. Hotels were unavailable almost immediately, and not really an option with a 13-year old Golden Retriever that couldn't be left home in our cold, dark house. Late Sunday afternoon the four of us and Boola moved in with the Z's, old friends who have been there for us through all of life's "storms," this one more literal than the rest, for what was unexpectedly a week long stay. Much more than a warm bed and a warm house, we were treated to spectacular meals, satellite TV and individual bathrooms (yes, I was living better in storm life than real life). Our more than gracious hosts opened their doors and their hearts to countless others during the course of the week; providing cell phone charging, a hot shower and a full house at the dinner table many nights in a row. Although it is never easy to be displaced from your home, I can't complain about afternoons filled with warm cookies from the oven, two playmates for my dog (who did not even get evicted after multiple "accidents" on the kitchen floor), and long days and nights spent with best friends who never tired from a houseful of guests. When the worst of times brings out the best in people, you know you have been blessed with the right people in your life. This week just confirmed what we have known all along, and we will be forever grateful that J & E have always been our safe harbor.

In reality, outside of the anger and resentment towards Connecticut Light & Power, most of the community rose to the occasion with respect and caring for their fellow storm refugees. Crowded gas stations and supermarkets fostered friendship and conversation, Facebook posts (seemingly the only communication with the world for most) offered "open invitations" to houses with power and long distance friends and family from near and far welcomed anyone who needed a place to sleep or just getaway for the day. Busy intersections without traffic lights provided a timely lesson to my soon to be new driver in courtesy and rules of the road. Restaurants and bookstores welcomed long-lingering patrons to "charge and warm”, many of them nursing the same cup of coffee for hours. Neighbors helped neighbors clean yards and drag branches to the street and kept watch on the houses whose residents had fled for power in other states. The local Laundromat (found out on Facebook it was owned by a friend and headed over immediately with bags from 4 households) washed and folded load after load every day, with the manager even offering to stay late and finish Scott's clothes so he could leave for his new job in Washington the next day. Mother nature served up a historic mess for October and I have to say, my community responded with mostly high marks.

On the lighter side (and I suppose that can be taken literally at this point), it wasn't so bad having a week off from work (spent mostly in Uggs and sweatpants) and Andrew wasn't unhappy about missing over a week of school either (not sure how he will feel about that in late June). I did feel the most sympathy for the parents of younger kids whose days were filled with endless field trips and "power less" activities; teenagers are generally happy to be left alone with their smart phones and a PS 3 in my case. I can't remember another event causing this much damage and disruption to my normal routine, but in the end we fared better than the thousands who suffered the wrath of Katrina or Irene. We mostly have intact homes to return to and other than the loss of perishable food (and my fridge looks as clean as the day it arrived) and some landscaping, life will continue as usual tomorrow when school is finally in session and power is fully restored statewide.

This brings me back to my original statement of 95% restoration. For the last 10 or 11 days (but who's counting) we received daily updates on power restoration estimates; who would have power and when. The goal of 100% restoration was shifted day after day until the numbers offered neither truth nor hope. It became almost laughable as the outage stretched beyond a week, schools closed for 7 days, and wires and trees still littered streets long after the snow had melted and the autumn sun returned. Days of "assessment" led to minimal impact on repairs and the sighting of electrical crews became a game of sport. I am thankful that exasperation led mostly to bad jokes and not extensive outbreaks of “power rage” (although there was a random murder reported in the midst of the chaos, doubtful however that this was a crime caused by lack of lights and cable). For the most part this will be a funny memory, a situation so far out of anyone's control, that laughter was the only remedy. Jeffrey may disagree based on a few outbreaks at his expense, but even in a power outage I am entitled to a few short circuits. I am happily back in my own house (I do miss the cookies and the cleaning lady though) with lights, cable TV and a home phone. I am still without Internet (thus the missing 5%, I might be underestimating its importance, but I still have 3G service on the iPad). I have obviously been "blogless" for many days now, but I have come to realize that writing is a luxury that didn't have its place during my displacement. I felt a bit selfish trying to find a quiet spot to share my thoughts when there always seemed to be something else I should be doing. I've fallen into a routine on this journey; places and times that I write which give me the space and freedom to let the words flow naturally. Losing my corner of the world, for even a short time, left me without an opportunity to think things through. The quiet of another home feels different than the empty hum of a night in my own room or the background noise of the news with my morning coffee. My words are used to their own environment and they have quietly snuck back into my head today. It feels good to talk to you again; hopefully you still want to listen. I woke up this morning, for the first time in a great while, with things I wanted to say and the free time to say them. As it happens, tomorrow's post will be my hardest, glad I got the chance to sneak one out before I tackle the one in front of me. I have emerged out of the darkness and into the light and learned that with family, good friends, laughter, a Laundromat, occasional liquor, and a charged iPhone, I can survive almost anything.

Bring It On, Alfred ...

Snowstorm in October, well I guess I have no excuse for not writing today. As far as the last few days, just not enough hours in the day. Starting from Wednesday, a non-stop day at work followed by a four-hour Board/Staff meeting, arrived home at 10 pm. Thursday was almost entirely dedicated to a funeral for the 108 year old matriarch of lifelong family friends. More a celebration of life at that age, but to her 75 year old son who visited her every day, the sadness over her loss was palpable. By Friday I was more than a little ready for a quiet day off and spent it mostly at home relaxing and doing laundry. Should have written then, but to be honest, I was happily thoughtless for a change. Good news on the child front capped off my day, Scott will be headed back to DC this week to start a new job. It was just the Friday I needed to prepare for what was supposed to be an over-scheduled weekend. And then came Alfred, Storm Alfred.

It's now Saturday at 4:25 pm and the fact that I am sitting in my bed writing is about as unexpected as the accumulating snow out my window. Today was supposed to be a back-to-back day of preparation for tomorrow's two work events ending with a charity concert tonight. I wasn't even expecting time to sit down, let alone write, so my current horizontal position is even more enjoyable than usual. My morning began with phone calls that started at 9 and culminated at 11 with the decision that tomorrow morning's event would be cancelled due to the impending storm. Too many "ifs" with an author flying in from out of state and potential driving and power issues for the morning. I was disappointed to have to make that decision before the first flake fell, but it was the right choice based on what I am seeing now. The next few hours were filled with logistical details of the cancellation, but those could be done from the comfort of home in my sweatpants. By midday I received the news that tonight's plan was also a no-go, and alas, my "too-full" day was completely free. I had a to make a quick trip to work, but otherwise this Saturday is suddenly sedentary.

Perhaps I underestimated this historical October snowstorm, but my quiet afternoon of writing is now subject to the dim light of the iPad. Its 4:47 and the power is out, a few on and offs preceded this long stretch, and I have a feeling this time it's out for the night. I have 49% power on my iPad and no computer, so let's hope this gets posted before I power down completely. I did hear them say multiple times on the news that widespread outages were expected, but they said the same thing for Hurricane Irene. I assumed they were "crying wolf" again and made no preparations for possible darkness. I'm sure I have few candles lying around (FYI, Jewish yahrzeit candles burn continuously for 24 hours), probably a flashlight or two from camp and enough food in the house that we won't starve. I have no interest in going to the store to participate in storm madness. Why is it that people suddenly feel as if they can't survive without milk, eggs, white bread and Doritos. If I'm lucky, Jeffrey will offer a trip to the store on the way home from his game and take care of the provisions. Dinner is easy on a gas cooktop and if I have the makings for a s'more in the fireplace I could be happy for a few days. There is plenty of liquor in the house if friends come over to ride out the storm or if I need to drink myself into a warm slumber.

All in all, I would say I am in fairly good shape for whatever comes my way. A bit earlier than expected, but a good snowstorm is usually fun, hard to understand if you've never lived in New England. Everyone is forced to stay home and hang out together, usually in the room with the fireplace. Games and puzzles replace television and all food is calorie free. The boys bundle up to shovel, which leads to a dangerous snow assault on whoever wants it least. Sooner or later they arrive in the mudroom red faced and soaked through multiple layers and I serve up mugs of warm hot chocolate. No matter how old they get, that part never changes. All of the sudden I'm kind of looking forward to October's attempt at a snowstorm. Hopefully I'll be able to check in soon and let you know how it went. Stay safe and warm if you are in Alfred's Path and I'll catch you on the other side.

To be continued ...