Janet and I are riding out a real Nor’easter on Fire Island right now.
Floyd Bennet Field’s toilets closed yesterday, after the showers three days ago, so I decided to head east toward the Hamptons for one last camping trip. I knew this storm was predicted, but didn’t much care. The tiny bit of sort-of-open-road was lovely. As were the stunning fall colors beginning as we got into Sufflolk County. A couple of ponds were framed in hardwood trees turning scarlet. Then the wind began rocking us in the middle of the night and goes without cessation, still, this afternoon.
I was notified I get to take possession of my room in Brooklyn a day early. I have several other things things lined up, and feel pretty peaceful about it all, but for a bit of normal trepidation about my unknown roommates. Been appreciating this elemental shelter, and washing my hair in a cold, deserted bathroom on the beach, during a howling storm. I have one nagging voice that wonders if this is a calm before another strike of fury from someone back in Oregon, which is not irrational or unreasonable. Twice in my life someone very close to me has died, and no one has seen fit to let me know until I showed up and asked. I fear the games do not respect life-and-death matters. I expect this tactic now, so I’m an adult, I suppose. If he didn’t ask Lucy to hold the football for him, what would Charlie Brown do instead? Well anyway, we’ll move on again tomorrow.