Irene was coming. Saturday was my birthday, and one I wouldn’t soon forget. Friday, I weathered Armeggedon-like lines and chaos at Whole Foods to stock up on water, produce and other comustables for a potential long weekend shut indoors. The mood of the crowd there was panicky and grumpy.
Saturday, various businesses started boarding up, as patrons kept streaming in and out. No more Smartwater, flashlights or duct tape to be had. Tarps werehard to come by. Bread? forget it. Sold out. I had to visit 3 different Williamsburg liquor stores before I found one with *any* bourbon or tequilla.
We were gonna greet Irene in style, with steely resolve.
I was all set to celebrate with duct tape, booze, batteries, and a headlamp. Both the BF and I were in Zone B — across the street from the “you must evacuate” Zone A areas. Since the BF’s building has been flooding with recent heavy rains, we elected to ride out Irene at his place in Greenpoint, so we could monitor the effectiveness of the sandbags, tarps and drains in his flood-prone basement.
The blender got busy with some Patron Reposada, fresh lime juice, splash of oj and crushed ice. Ay yi yi!
We hunkered down, prerused interactive maps, watched local news, listened to the howling winds, followed by eerie silence. The sandbags held up. We napped but didn’t really sleep. I opened presents;)
And then…morning. The high tide was due at around 8 a.m., when storm surges were expected. Anxiety. Silence. The storm surge wasn’t that bad. Another was to hit in about an hour so we took the dog out for a walk. All, it seemed, appeared to be clear. One deli had stayed open.
We got through it.
And Irene was downgraded to a tropical storm. Let’s face it, much of NY was disappointed as much as they were relieved.