I said earlier that I would stop writing about Irene, but I won’t. I can’t, actually, too much going on in my head.  Blogger’s prerogative, and I’ve never been one for consistency, I do believe consistency  is the hobgoblin of small minds, which might make me a genius. But I’m not interested in the storm, just the strange sense of this alien thing heading our way, creeping up the coast, part killer, part awesome thing.

I am fiddling with plastic covers to see if I can take photos and not wreck my camera. Wearing out the dogs, who will be indoors for awhile. Letting go of the scare thing – I had my fling with it yesterday and this morning – and moving into my own space, which is, hopefully, creative, encouraging, and where possible, reassuring. The animals teach me to accept life, not to fear it, complain about it, or lament it. None of those things help, or change a thing.

Life occurs, and we can do little about it when it occurs on us. My wife says, “Ain’t That The Truth.” So I’ll be blogging when I can. Tomorrow we will hopefully have little to but sit inside and give thanks for dryness and one another.