Morning all:

“Tragedy is when I cut my finger – comedy is when I see you step in a manhole.” — Mel Brooks

Good morning from the Hampton (please do not read it as The Hamptons – I only wish). Last night I stopped in Chattanooga on my way to Atlanta, leaving in part because Marcia got tired of bumping into me in the dark (more about that in a moment) and needed me out of the house. OK, I just came back from the lobby with some fresh morning coffee—not bad stuff, just served in that strange bumpy plastic cup that Hampton uses. Now the day can formally begin.

I’ll be in Atlanta on business for the week, leaving home at hour 120 without power. Last Sunday our town was part of a swath of the mid-west which got hit by a “hurricane without the rain”. For 6 hours the winds roared; at times it was pretty and fun, at times it started to get scary. By hour 1 of the storm our neighborhood lost electricity, by hour 5 we were having wine and cheese with neighbors.

Somewhere in the midst of it all I spotted Marcia happily raking debris in the front yard – immediately underneath the largest tree around. Sprinkled with an expletive or two I screamed over the roar of in incoming wind burst for her to get out of there. She did. Ten seconds later a 25 foot branch hit the ground exactly where she had been standing, which then completely blocked the street.

When it was all said and done 1.2 million were without power, our county had 600,000. 30 hours later 300,000 had their power restored. Steadily, as the days dragged on, we heard the numbers improve, and heard news of businesses and schools starting up, till eventually it was down to 85,000 without—this was the group we were in.

By this time I had expended any humor I had left and started organizing the neighbors. Actually, my suggestion that we gather our torches, pitchforks, and ladders to then storm the gates at the energy companies’ headquarters was turned down.

Last night at 8:30 exactly Marcia called my cell to inform that the power was restored. Together we sang the Halleluiah Chorus to each other.

Our refrigerator hasn’t been this clean since we purchased it.

Yesterday little Vaioleti turned three weeks old (29 gestation) and at the same time her weight had risen to two pounds. Whooo – hooo. Marcia and I went with Adrianne and Tevita to visit her in the NICU last Thursday evening. Vai was doing her early evening nap thing. Yet, when spoken to she’d open one eye, try to focus, and then roll her shoulders a bit. I swear, she is the cutest micro-preemie in the place.

My rant of last week going on and on about a neighbor I referred to as TBL (for The Born Loser) was thought to be over the top by several readers. There was no way, they felt, that anyone could combine the absolute laziness and extremely poor driving skills to do what I claimed.

And I had no proof that it was so.

Then came the storm. In the midst of it, there, skidding out of his yard and onto the street, came the very recycling bin in question. The plastic’s memory had restored the shape somewhat. But, the ripped out bottom was all the proof I needed. I had my camera ready.

Make it a great week. Power up!

Cheers,

Dirk