The Morning After Halloween

The first of November in Lambertville is like Ash Wednesday in New Orleans, the day after Mardi Gras, when the sun rises on streets empty of visiting revelers, lollipops and chocolate bar wrappers littering the gutters. The residents are exhausted.

We are recovering from the battering of Nature, at least most of us are. Some still have no electricity, hence no heat or lights, and in the farther reaches of West Amwell no water either, since electricity is required to bring it up from the well. When the snow fell on Saturday it stuck to the unshed leaves of early autumn trees and weighed the branches down to the breaking point, especially the weak, fast-growing limbs of the ornamental pear trees that were so popular years ago until time proved them unsuitable. Only a tall stump is left of the tree that used to grow in front of our house. On Saturday afternoon the branches all bowed to the ground, and bowed, and bowed, and then suddenly with a bang exploded right off the tree. The neighbors have agreed that it must be replaced with something that will do better. Perhaps an oak.

The Halloween parade that was to have taken place on Sunday was canceled by the city. Things were still messed up. Multiple trucks from the electric company were at work on many downed wires. But on Monday night, Halloween night, the police closed Union Street to traffic and the crowds came in their thousands, babies dressed as bats, grownups dressed as witches, a girl dressed as a lighted jellyfish. So the holiday was saved.

And now it's over. In the distance I can hear the sound of computers being booted as NaNoWriMo begins. Not participating myself, but I do have to get busy on the Work in Progress.

Long Week's Journey Into New Year

I know that plenty of people had trouble getting back home from the South last week, when the snowstorm closed a slew of airports and stranded a number of pilots in cities far from the planes they were supposed to pilot. So I want you to understand that I didn't come here to whine at you. Lots of folks were worse off. Nevertheless, I burn to tell you my story.

Family Reunion

First of all, the plan was to have a family reunion-type Christmas in Ocean Springs, Mississippi, with Harold's sister 'n'em. This entailed gathering our boy John from the West Coast, and ourselves from the East, without re-mortgaging the house to pay for plane tickets. So I spent the better part of an afternoon a couple of months ago getting the very cheapest fares available to us all, on several different airlines. I assured my friends that we would be home in time to host the annual New Year's Eve party.

Harold and I planned to fly round-trip to New Orleans on US Airways and rent a car. John was to fly Delta to Atlanta and then to Gulfport, where we would pick him up. After a week's jolly visiting we would all return to Lambertville, which is to say, Philadelphia International Airport, Harold and I nonstop on US Airways and John on Airtran with a stop in Atlanta. But on Sunday the snowstorm came.

Snowy Airport

The snow was so deep in Philadelphia that they cancelled a football game in the stadium, a stone's throw from the airport. Things looked bad. Monday morning a robot called from US Airways and expressed regret that our flight was cancelled. Airtran was still set to go, so we piled into the rental car and drove sixty miles to the airport in New Orleans to put John on his plane and then try to find some way to get ourselves home.

Fleur de Paris Hat

US Airways rescheduled us on a flight leaving the following day. "View haloo," we said. "We'll party in New Orleans tonight." So we booked a room at the Drury (excellent hotel), strolled the French Quarter, browsed the Fleur de Paris (divine couturier and milliner), and dined at the Bon Ton (superb restaurant). Next morning the robot called again. Again our flight was cancelled.

We rescheduled for a flight leaving at three o'clock on Wednesday and went back to Ocean Springs.

It was nice to see the folks again. Being polite souls they stifled their cries of, "Not you again," and smilingly let us into the house. Next day we climbed back into the rental car and set out for New Orleans in plenty of time to catch the three o'clock flight.

Bridge over Ponchartrain

Or so we thought. But the Louisiana Highway Department had other ideas. Halfway across Lake Ponchartrain on the I-10 bridge the traffic suddenly slowed to three miles an hour, and if you know that bridge you know it's way longer than three miles.

The construction work and consequent slowdown had been announced that morning in the Times-Picayune, but we hadn't read it. By the time we reached the gate it was twenty after three. Our plane had left on time. (Unheard of, someone said.)

The sympathetic airline clerk found us two seats on a plane leaving on Thursday. Another night in New Orleans. Off to an airport hotel this time, in a shuttle packed with stranded stewardesses. It was comfortable enough, but I wanted to be home. The party was to be on Friday. At dawn on Thursday morning I sprang out of bed and wrote down the menu and a shopping list. Ham, gumbo, green salad, pecan pie. Simple matter. We watched the Burn Notice marathon until it was time to go back to the airport.

By suppertime on Thursday we were home at last. No sign of John; he was hanging out with old friends. More Burn Notice, and then to bed.

Me and my chopping knife

Friday, the day of the party, I took my shopping list to the Giant. There wasn't any frozen okra for the gumbo, but in the produce section I found the last two packages of fresh okra in the Western Hemisphere. It came from Nicaragua. Saved. I went home, made the pies, scrubbed the bathroom, changed the bag on the vacuum sweeper, chopped vegetables until blue in the face, made the gumbo, roasted the ham (recipes on request), shoveled the clutter out of the dining room while Harold ran the sweeper, thought about a shower (too late), sprayed perfume on myself (Burberry), changed my clothes, and let the first guest in.

The party was a success. People like gumbo and pecan pie, and friends brought other stuff as well. It was great. The only thing was...

Dark scary highway

The only thing was, I had to take John to the Philadelphia airport before dawn the next morning. Why me? Well, I don't drink alcohol. I figured that while everyone else was hung over I would be fresh and bright. The way it actually went down I was kind of tired. In fact only my terror of falling asleep kept me awake. I-95 is scary in the dark with no traffic.

Anyway, happy new year. I'm all recovered now, after two solid days of sleep. I don't think I'll be flying again anytime soon.