What a drag — no Times. No Times delivered to my doorstep. I wasn’t expecting one, and I don’t know what use it would be. The online articles are all jumbled and impressionistic, and there’s no news at all about getting back to normal. There can’t be. Although the storm’s effect on our household has so far been limited to splattering the windows with dirt — something that never happens ordinarily — it’s clear that we’re on an island within an island surrounded by widespread devastation. Skies are still grey; the wind, while no longer howling, is still gusty, and every now and then a bucket of rain comes out of nowhere. It is very quiet. The Mayor is going to deliver a report momentarily. 

***

This isn’t the place to wax rhapsodic about Mayor Bloomberg, but I’d happily make him tsar of everything for life. He outlined the power and transit situations and offered a few semi-definite figures, conveying the impression that the return to normal is well underway even if it’s going to take “four or five days” to get the subway system running and a little bit longer to restore power to everyone who lost it. This afternoon may see limited bus service. Taxis and livery cars can pick up multiple fares. NYU hospital has got its backup generator working. And so on and so forth.

I’m wondering how long it will take for the supermarkets to restock their shelves, and what the local restaurant scene will be like in the next few days. (And I haven’t heard a word about the Postal Service.) For the time being, however, I’m staying put.

***

I did go downstairs to see what there was to see — my first time off the floor since Saturday. There was nothing to see. There was nothing in the mailbox, and the valet/package room was closed. As expected; but it was something to do. We’re thinking of going out at about six, to see what the restaurants are like, and to try to buy milk for Will.

Will and his parents will come up tomorrow on bicycles. I just heard from Megan two minutes ago, at the turning point of a trial run. She had to cycle up to Murray Hill to get a cell phone signal. Her landline was knocked out by the flooding (which has receded), as I discovered to some chagrin this morning. Ryan’s mother, just as concerned, gave me a call; she and Ryan’s father, living near the Jersey Shore, have been out of power since yesterday and don’t expect restoration anytime soon. (They had a long wait last year, in the wake of Irene.) When I called Fran back with my news, I was not surprised to find her phone switched off, and I tried but failed to leave her a brief but comprehensive message.

I’d like to post a status update at Facebook, but I have no interesting photographs, and you can’t just say something at Facebook without a picture. Well, you can… 

***

You would hardly know that anything happened, in the aisles at Fairway. First of all: plenty of milk. Really! That’s why I went. I expected bare shelves, but no. Plenty. And I bought what I wanted, not what I had to. I did note that there wasn’t much in the way of orange juice. (What is it about New Yorkers and orange juice? Why don’t they squeeze it?) But there was plenty of everything else. Plenty of customers, too.

The milk is for Will. Megan asked me to look for some, so that she wouldn’t have to schlep it uptown. I was daunted. I had no idea whether Fairway might be open. Or if the other supermarkets were. My first reaction was to put the errand off. “Let’s go out at about six and see what’s what,” I said to Kathleen. Half an hour later, I snapped to attention. “I’ll go look for it now.”  

The intersection of 86th and Second was packed, and very lively. Everybody seemed mildly excited; everybody was talking. The stoplights weren’t working — at this intersection only — and it was difficult to see who was directing traffic, which was heavy. Nobody was minding Mayor Bloomberg’s plea to stay off the roads.

I bought eggs and butter as well. It occurred to me to look for something for dinner, something besides what I’ve already got. But nothing appeals to me. My gut has been off for several days. I’m hungry, but nothing is appetizing. This morning, I thought, “I’ll make a nice chicken salad for dinner.” But the idea of chicken salad became insupportable. So, alas, are all the other ideas. Kathleen, who feels much the same, thinks that she’d like an omelette.  

Drop me a line at rjk@dailyblague.com
This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 30th, 2012 at 11:38 am.