It appears we moved uptown just in time, as our Upper West Side apartment survived Sandy with electricity intact. (We did, however, watch a gust of wind take out a row of trees outside our window, smashing a couple of parked cars in the process.)
This evening, we’re playing hotel for family that wasn’t so lucky: my 90-year-old grandmother is up from downton, where last night cars floated down her street, and today her apartment is still without electricity; my brother-in-law is down from Columbia University Medical Center in upper Manhattan, where he just finished a 48-hour hurricane shift in the ICU; and his wife is in from Fort Lee, NJ, where she was stuck at home in the dark on her own day off from the hospital, unable to cross the GW bridge.
Plus we have Gemelli, who’s weathered the storm completely unfazed. (Though, as Jess pointed out, he’s young enough and a recent enough transplant to simply assume we have howling winds like this every week here in NYC). It’s a lot of people all at once for a puppy, especially for a puppy who’d already started to go a bit stir-crazy in the apartment during the hurricane lockdown. (He terrorized Jess this morning with manic misbehavior while I was out opening and inspecting the gym.)
I’m happy to have them all here, in part because it’s nice to spend time with family, and in part because I feel like I’m helping out with storm recovery in some small way. But also because, like the man in the old Jewish parable who’s rabbi instructs him to bring all his chickens into the house, I’m sure things will feel awfully quiet and spacious when we’re only dealing with one crazy little dog, rather than an entire house full of guests.