That was a long 33 hours. Today the lights finally came back on at Chéz Coppola, around 6 p.m.
We procrastinated pre-Irene. We blew it off. We failed to heed the warnings — saw the forecast as an over-hyped ploy to strike fear in the hearts of, well … people who rely on said media. I played with the band in Lake George on a beautiful Friday night, with a warm wind coming off the lake and stars in the sky. I came home, slept through the early onset of Irene’s wrath and woke up listening to the deluge of live storm coverage on AM talk radio — which I still thought was blown out of proportion. I was supposed to go play funk with a band in Albany. Instead, as I was getting ready to make breakfast, out went the lights. Then the trees started snapping as they swayed in the hurricane-force gusts of wind I swore would never reach Middle Grove.
Darn. Why hadn’t I stored some water? Why had I failed to stock up on, let’s see, everything. I had a fridge full of condiments and beverages and a stick of butter. Now that’s what I call stupid on my part. Lucky for us, Jim has a small generator to run the fridge, which we promptly went to the Stewart’s Shop on the corner to stock. Thanks again Stewart’s. You’re always there when we need you — rain, shine, major federal holiday or hurricane. They should get more props than the post office.
I had no idea how much I actually rely on electricity. It never feels like I’m roughing it when it’s self-imposed, on say a camping trip. Either way, we survived. I read a few novels, doodled in the sketch book, played guitar. Life goes on. Thanks, Marion for the use of your shower. Thanks also for the water. I am so glad I won’t have to manually flush toilets anymore.
Here is a video of some more Irene stupidity …
