I left camp as Hurricane Irene was making her way up the East Coast not really sure of direction or where landing would be. Both me and Irene. We both lit about the same time, me back in Middlebury for a short while and she, briefly but very efficiently as hurricanes go in Stockbridge, Rochester, Gaysville and numerous other communities. Reeking of devastation and vandalizing our notion of final resting spot; what will become for those of us close to her as “our hurricane”, left behind a lot of mud in the wrong places, dead cows and substations of power grossly downstream. But there was the unintended heroic consequence that pointed out why places like Stockbridge, Rochester, Gaysville and others are called communities.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
I think Irene.
I think Irene who?
I think Irene the lottery, my home isn’t upside down.
So after a couple of days at my sister’s house in Cornwall and a hurricane extended trip to New York, New York (the city so confused they had to name it twice) to move daughter Grady from Brooklyn to her new life as a student at NYU I find myself with 4 or 5 days of not a whole lot to do other than drink beer, watch the Lake Dunmore shoreline slide back into position and keep an eye on Tula.
Tula is Ashley’s dog and is the heir to the Miss Bindergarten fortune. I have been tasked as a dogsitter which in this instance is not that taxing a task. Food twice a day, a walk every morning which she could do in her sleep and throwing a tennis ball into the lake. Throwing the ball is the hardest part of the job because throwing it too far results in a look of yeah right. “Woof woof” (trans: “There’s a good strong wind blowing into shore, let’s let that take care of things shall we?”)
There is no internet access (something which has jumped ahead of access to healthcare on my list of great job benefits) and no TV. But who cares. I’ve got me an iRobot named Roomba. More precisely Roomba the Model 400 vacuum cleaning robot. This little bad boy “Cleans routinely...so I don’t have to.” And is quite mesmerizing as he bumps his way around the room like a severely drunk dancer at a very white wedding. (What is about the culture in which I matured that names bad things like hurricanes for women and assigns maleness to modern life-altering wonders?) Better than any Jim Carey movie, I watch endlessly, trying in vain to figure out the algorithm that guides Roomba. Yo stupid! Lift your feet outta the way. Tula at least is smart enough to leave the room when Roomba fires up. Out of the room and up on a bed. “Woof, woof, woof” (trans: “Call me when you learn how to climb bedspreads.”)
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Irobot.
Irobot who?
Irobot out to pick up the tennis ball because the wind changed direction.
So it’s 4 or 5 days after Irene and Tula, Roomba and I await the arrival of another storm due to deposit up to 4 inches of rain. The Cherokee have a saying that roughly translates as “don’t piss off Mother Nature”. Actually I made that up. What do I know of the Cherokee. But it seems like something a culture with more sense than ours would say.
So we wait. Woof, woof, woof, woof. (trans: Roomba! Get your ass out of that corner and bring Peter another beer.)
Love you all. Peace. Peter
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