TO: Adrienne, SAM, R and the puppies, Paz, Char and the boys; Tricia and her boys, Jama and Len, Kel and Co., Liz, Jules, all the Birds, Erin and Tim, Kath & Co; Bryan and all the other gentiles in your flat, the Roys and teh kittehs, and the dogs, too, though they can usually fend for themselves; Carrie and all of yours, Jackie & Co. in New Brunswick, Caro in Toronto, Sara, Isa M., Our Lady Jane, all you cookery people, Joelle/Riley & G., Cairy, Char and the girls, Mark & Patti, and anyone else potentially in the path of danger whose name I have inexplicably missed,
FROM: The rest of us.
This guy is not joking. And apparently, neither is this storm.
You are in our thoughts.
The news does. not. stop. It’s either the Giants (yay!) or The Storm That Will End All Storms (boo!). I remember this – the hype, the constant updates, the people who scoffed. We had frequent storms in Scotland — the second and last year was particularly intense. I find that I miss thunder, lightning, and wind so strong I can neither get the front door opened alone, nor, once open, closed — but it’s hard to have that sense of wonder about the power of nature when it’s making missiles out of simple litter, blinding you with dirt and leaves, and about to rip off your roof.
I remember the sound of the 100+ year old brick mill building across from us when it went down. Slate shingles spinning like scythes in the dark – plywood splintering into toothpicks. Our house shook to the foundations, and there, in the wind and the dark — we couldn’t tell how bad it was, not until watery morning light broke.
I remember this, and it raises goosebumps.
Stay safe, friends.