The aftermath

You may have heard about that little hurricane named Irene. After a few days of intense news coverage, she made landfall at Coney Island. We were prepared with food, water, flashlights, candles, and our emergency backpack in case we needed to pick up and go. But we really wouldn't have been able to go far since mass transit was shut down. Despite our extensive preparation, nothing could have prepared us for the aftermath.

As I was sitting in a chair in our family room, a gust of wind blew my granola bar wrapper onto the seat cushion, emptying the contents of the bag.

Little crumbly bits everywhere. And of course as I try to clean it up, those little bits just fall down beside the cushion.

We're doing well. No one was injured during Irene's wrath. We're just trying to pick up the pieces.


(I hope no one takes offense to me making light of Hurricane Irene. I know there are casualties and lots of damage because of this storm. But after so much news coverage and little damage on my street, I knew something bad had to happen. We really are lucky that this was the extent of our misfortune.)