Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.

 

Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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   Irene approaches
Saturday, August 27 2011

Katie left early this morning, but Mary P. needed to be taken to the bus station somewhat later, so she was around for breakfast. She'd tried to take a shower this morning but the water had never gotten warm, partly because she didn't know how to set the knob and partly because of how long it takes hot water to reach the master guestroom's bathroom. (The urge to "spare no expense" and use inch-thick pipe to carry household water is just one of many head-scratchingly bad decisions that went into the design of our house.) But Mary brushed it off as having been a problem, claiming she sort of liked cold showers. That seemed implausible, and later when she qualified not being able to sleep very well in the Gunther guest room because it was "a little musty" by saying she "kind of likes that smell," I'd deduced a pattern.

Meanwhile Hurricane Irene had made landfall first in the outer banks of North Carolina and then in coastal New Jersey, with a predicted course possibly through Manhattan and up the Hudson Valley through our part of the world. By this point the storm had weakened to Category One, but it was still a massive system likely to bring a lot of rain.
For most of the day, though, all Irene brought was overcast skies and occasional light sprays of drizzle. When Gretchen got back from taking Mary to the airport and walking the dogs in the corn fields of the Esopus, I jokingly asked if the hurricane had reached those places yet.
Late this evening, rain started falling earnest, eventually joined by increasingly-gusty winds. By the time I went to bed at around 12:30am, there was a real storm raging outside.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?110827

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