Dispatches from the storm

Superstorm Sandy – and have they downgraded it from a hurricane to a

‘superstorm’ for insurance purposes, the cynic in me wants to ask? – has blown in and out of my little hamlet with disastrous effects. Although we were all very lucky there were no fatalities, thousands are left without power, perhaps indefinitely.

I’m typing this from the Scarsdale Inquirer newspaper office, an ad hoc arrangement cobbled together at the last minute, but that will allow the Bedford Record Review newspaper to get out. We are working to get the paper out, come hell or high water. And it has been hell. Driving around is frightening, especially in the dark. Roads are blocked. Trees are down. Unsecured live power lines lie twisted on the ground. Like many of my neighbors, I have no heat, light, or running water. Last night it was 30 degrees. Light rain is in the forecast. The lack of communication from the power company, NYSEG is grim. No one is willing to go on the record as to when relief can be expected. Town officials are saying restoration could take weeks. Flaks from the power company are saying nada.

As I go about the house dressed in my coat, my hat, and my boots, I think about my mother, Geraldine, who years ago was a proud member of the Women’s Army Corps. “You’re in the army now, you’re not behind a plow; you’ll never get rich, you son of a bitch, you’re in the army now,” she gleefully sang, following me around the house when I was a teen, supervising me through chores. Thanks to my mother’s immersion in the United States Army, I have some resourceful skills, including the ability to carry on for days lacking heat or hot water. I know how to hammer my daily sustenance down to the barest minimum. Although what I crave most is a cup of hot soup and hot tea, I can survive on apples, nuts, bottled water and almond butter. Chocolate and wine help. Thanks to Geraldine’s training, I also know how to make a bed so tightly you can bounce quarters off it, pluck a chicken, clean a weapon.

I’ve often quipped that there is almost no situation where a Barbour coat won’t serve, and during this Sandy Situation I’ve been proven correct at every turn. My favorite stepfather, the one I think of as ‘Dad,” Charles Camp Cotton, a Democrat and a free thinker and a former judge in Nuremberg, favored his Burberry raincoat, even wearing it as a bathrobe. Between my Barbour Utility jacket and quilted vest and field coat, I’ve been well prepped for every Sandy scenario. The waxed canvas coat kept me dry the many times I had to venture outdoors during the storm, monitoring the gutters and keeping the flood drains cleared. The vest has been a terrific bed jacket. The quilted coat I’ve been wearing four days on end. It’s warm, it’s reflective, and just the thing to throw on when crouching in the leaves, urinating in the moonlight.

As news trickles in of gas shortages, civilians arguing with police officers who are blocking them from checking on their storm affected homes, friends and family members in much worse off areas, like the Jersey shore, I wonder what might be next to come if things go from bad to worse. No one I know can even conceive of what it might be like if the norm is not soon the norm. You hear a lot these days about “The New Normal,” i.e. single parent families, gay marriage, anyone and everyone rating and ranking themselves and their friends’ peculiar quirks as being somewhere on the Asperger Spectrum. But the New Normal might really turn out to be decades of hoarding batteries, stockpiling fuel, conserving commodities, learning to live in the dark. We all might have to decide whether it’s better to own a generator or become a master survivalist. Recipes for cooking squirrel may abound. A girl who helped me clean our log cabin in upstate New York long ago told me the secret ingredient to making rodent palatable is lots of ketchup.

I’m always interested in how the human spirit deals with adversity. While the national news casts dire warnings against future looting and price gouging, this morning in downtown Katonah, things were almost sunny. At Kelloggs & Lawrence hardware store, despite the lack of electricity, business was lively. People were coming in from as far away as Lincolndale seeking butane-fueled outdoor cook stoves,  sleeping bags, kerosene lamps, batteries. Storm stories were exchanged. Little Joe’s Coffee up the street was open, even though Jen, the owner, said she had no hot drinks. Passersby on Valley Road stopped to pet a shivering Chihuahua wearing two coats. Everyone said “Good morning. ” Last night a kind neighbor invited me in to take a hot shower. At the end of the day it was good to know most people in my town realize in a catastrophe it’s all about neighbor helping neighbor, which is just as it should be. Let’s all stick together and hang tough.