It is 11:59am and we are waiting for Hurricane Irene. It is a little like waiting for a scary relative to arrive, someone close enough that there is no real choice but to welcome them, but unpredictable enough so as not to know exactly how to prepare for the visit. We have done everything, but tie Gregory down to a chair. He has been in high alert for several days and thanks to him we have basic staples: coffee, candy and books. I will admit that I have been teasing him for days about his high alert behavior, but when he reported this morning that Starbucks is closed...Starbucks closed on a Saturday morning???...I, too, moved into high gear and wrapped the fig trees. Suddenly all the sweet plants of summer gardening seemed so vulnerable: the sunflowers that have finally created blossoms, the green tomatoes waiting to ripen, the corn that has just burst forth from tall skinny stalks. Now, at 12:04pm, the MTA has shut down the subways and buses and NYC is still. There are sandbags at the edge of all the steps on campus to slow the water down. The air pressure is heavy and we are just waiting. It's raining.
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