We Wait

It's hard to know what to do to prepare for a hurricane. I mean, after you get your milk and bread wine and pretzels, inventory your batteries and candles, buy some beans and make some ice, well, all you can do then is wait.

The way Mistah and I wait may be slightly different than the way the rest of America waits.

Mistah takes photos of the swirling clouds . . .

. . . while I keep him company on the deck, ensuring his Guinness -- and my own -- is kept filled . . .

. . . until it gets too dark to be outside. Then we move inside into the kitchen, along with all of our outdoor plants and furniture, which makes it very crowded, but very festive . . .

I love how in every photo I'm moving so fast I blur myself out of focus. I move fast in my kitchen. Which is how I end up with so many bumps, bruises and broken wine glasses.

I also love how every light is on in the joint. We are clearly soaking in as much artificial light we can, in anticipation of losing said light. Which never happened. (Cue Survivor's Guilt).

No, there is nothing to do when you're in a hurricane's path but wait for it.

So we cook . . .

. . . we pay obsessive attention to the storm online . . .

. . . we take photos . . .

. . . and we wait.