I’m going to blow out an emergency candle on top of a granola bar for my birthday in New York City today.
My flight home was cancelled and the city has shut down. The taxi horns have stopped. We’re left listening to wind. Even the chess tables in Washington Square Park are empty.
Ah, Frankenstorm, thanks for the mystic fun.
(The last night of peace: our view from the rooftop bar of the Met, my new favorite place in the city.)
(Checkmate, Sandy: Washington Square Park — where Harry left Sally.)
I’m staying with a girlfriend and our hurricane preparedness has included stocking up on water and flashlights and non-perishables, of course. We also over-ordered at restaurants so we can have leftovers and ran to Sam Flax for glitter. We need constructive indoor activity and cheerful attitudes, n’est-ce pas?
A smart last supper: dinner with leftovers at Ilili. I loved the giant pumpkins on high shelves and the Mediterranean food we can dream about while eating trail mix: falafel, fattoush, labne, and wicked brussels sprouts.
Then, we blew off Saturday night Halloween parties to push two grocery carts down 57th Street, fighting taxis and stares, laughing like the madwomen we appeared to be.
Scary shelves at Whole Foods that once held water:
We’ve been tempted to interfere with the people in line about what “non-perishable” means. Lean Cuisine, hummus and Snack-Pack pudding do not qualify. Peanut Butter, people, you need peanut butter.
I hope I still like peanut butter when all of this is over.
Early Sunday morning, I walked the High Line with Marni just as the wind kicked up. I sat on a bench and watched golden leaves float down cool currents.
Sandy, be gentle to my beloved New York.