The aftermath of a storm leaves people alternately working earnestly to remedy a problem, or sitting around wondering what to do with their unearned free time. So far I’ve had too much hanging around and not enough work. My body is no longer fit to do heavy lifting, but I can wield a chainsaw when needed. Too bad I don’t have a chainsaw.

I admit it, I fled the island for two days rather than sit around in the dark and cold. I’m still sitting in the dark and cold today, but I came back once the grocery store had power. As a friend said to me, “as long as the grocery store is open, and I have a place to go, I’m fine.”

The cats didn’t seem pissed that I had left them for two nights. I rationalized leaving them behind by reminding myself that they have fur, and I do not (well, not enough to keep me warm, just enough to require extensive and contortionist hair-removal practices). They had food for four days, when I was gone only two. Maybe they had a little binge party. Who knows. I have evidence that they chased each other around a lot; the entry rug was all bunched up by the front door, and a cup of tea I had left on the kitchen table had been knocked over and the tea had soaked the placemat and dribbled onto the floor.

Of course the food in the fridge is beginning to go off. Last night I packed up the dairy products and drove to my school, because I had heard that one school had power. Alas, it was the high school, not the elementary. I came to the school gate, where I met the superintendent and the head of maintenance. They were repositioning the sign that said, “No Power, No School”. (In a more political time, I suppose they could reverse the words, to say “No School, No Power”. But we’re talking about the Great Blow of Aught-Six and dealing with more immediate needs than philosophy.)

I checked the PO Box - some envelopes I knew better than to open, a refund check from my last apartment deposit (they nicked a Benjamin, calling it “administrative fees” – I’m checking my lease to see if that was disclosed to me upon initial rental), two Netflix envelopes, and a brass key. I had a package. The package was from Louisiana, about 8x10x20, heavy, and it rattled. Hmmm. The Cajun strikes again.

I drove to Little Miss Thing’s house to get a hot shower, open the box, and watch the second disc of the first season of “Weeds”. The shower was book-ended by calls from the Cajun himself in Iraq. The box contained all manner of Cajun indoctrination materials: two kinds of Tabasco; a calendar by Frank Sommier, the “artist of Acadia”; beignet mix; crab boil; cane syrup; Hurricane drink mix; Cajun seasonings; and about 40 strings of Mardi Gras beads. I asked Glen what, exactly, a girl would have to do to earn that many beads, and he just laughed. Good thing Mardi Gras in Lafayette is a little more family friendly than in the Big Easy.

Sleeping arrangements tonight included cotton thermal blanket and feather duvet on couch, topped with two kitties and covered in a lovely sauce of Blueflower Earl Grey with cream and sugar. Slept like a baby, awaking only to my exclusive seagull alarm clock and a quiet, pink sunrise.