Okay, I'm grateful no hurricanes threatened while we were out of town. Really I am. But it's good to be home, and I'd really rather Ernesto not be on the welcoming committee. Nor do I want him to be one of Porter's new co-workers in New Orleans.
I already gave away much of last year's "hurricane food"—the local food pantry specifically wants the canned stew and such we'd normally only eat as emergency rations. I've been replacing it gradually with new stock, but perhaps I'd better accelerate the process. And add to the stock of ice in our freezer, which as dwindled a bit, though we still have plenty in the form of water-filled, frozen milk jugs. I think everything else is in order.
But I hope not to have to prove it.
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