This afternoon, J and I walked to our local pizza and sandwich shop for lunch instead of going to the Boston Symphony Orchestra concert we had tickets for, the concert being cancelled due to this weekend’s impending blizzard. At lunchtime, the snow had just started to fall, and many businesses had signs in their windows announcing they were closing early. Our local Dunkin’ Donuts was closed, for instance, but the liquor store next to it was open, ready to capitalize on the handful of people stocking up on last minute “essentials.” On the streets, only a few cars and dedicated joggers were out, enjoying one last trip around the block before hunkering down for the storm.
On our way home, J and I encountered a frantic dog-walker who was looking for a friend’s beagle. She’d agreed to walk “Monkey” along with her own dog, but he’d slipped from her grasp and was running around the neighborhood with his leash still hooked to his harness. Following a set of dog-tracks, we cornered Monkey between our and our neighbors’ backyards, and with all three of us closing in, J was finally able to tackle the skittish fellow. That was our good deed for the day, and we haven’t been outside since.
J and I are getting good at preparing for storms, having had repeated practice over the past few years. Between Irene, Sandy, and now Nemo, we’ve perfected a routine where we check our pantry for provisions, charge our devices, and locate and test our flashlights and battery-powered radio. I’ve learned from experience to post an announcement in each of my online classes explaining that if I should suddenly stop answering email, that means I’ve lost power, Internet connectivity, or both. After having spent the day trying to catch up with online teaching tasks, I’m ready to power down for the night, watching TV coverage of the storm as long as the power holds and listening to the winds howl outside. Tomorrow morning, we’ll see how badly the blizzard has buried us, and we’ll start digging out. Right now, though, we hunker down and wait.