Hurricane Sandy

Hurricane Sandy hit landfall yesterday.  I watched it on Twitter.  The tweets about the wind, the rain, the flickering lights.  And then the darkness of the storm, of the loss of electricity.

Then the silence came, the tweets stopped coming, and the rest of us who were home, safe, waited and prayed that our friends and loved ones had only gone to sleep for the night, and that they too were safe.

I went to bed last night, fascinated by the storm, feeling an apocalyptic sense of doom.  Guilt along with relief that I would sleep soundly in my bed that night.

I reached for Twitter when I first woke this morning to see who was there, if there was word. Who had we heard from, who was safe, and who were we still waiting to hear from?

I have family in Cincinnati, who I knew were not in any danger of being in the path of the storm, but would see some fall out in the form of a few snowflakes on the ground today.  They seemed wildly unimpressed.

The pictures have emerged today, of a barren, empty shell of a city that just days ago was bustling, loud, bright and full of life.  Once again, New York will have to put the pieces of their city back together.

From The Atlantic:

Photo Credit: Reuters/Lucas Jackson

Grand Central Terminal
Photo Credit: MTA New York City Transit/Aaron Donovan

New York Stock Exchange Closed
Photo Credit: AP Photo/Richard Drew

The photos of the before, are so eerily quiet, the tension, the waiting very real.  The devastation after  is at times both heartbreaking and hopeful.

Please go look at the full  collection of photos from The Atlantic here, Hurricane Sandy in Photos and Hurricane Sandy After Landfall.

I live in the Mid West, I live along the Mississippi River,  I live with floods every spring.  But these people, don’t.  I live with river water, they have an ocean being picked up and dumped on them.   I’ve learned, that you can prepare to minimize the damage, but you will never be able to stop Mother Nature. That bitch goes where she wants.

To everyone on the East Coast, my heart and thoughts and prayers are with you.

Jail Chronicles, Chapter Thirteen

You don’t sleep well in jail, and when you do sleep you don’t dream much. You certainly don’t dream of home.  But last night my mind had done nothing but run over a never ending list of things I needed to do once I got out of here.

It is Wednesday, May 21.  Today is my arraignment.  I will stand before the judge today, have my charges read to me, and ask for a bail reduction. Or maybe to be released on my own recognizance.  I don’t even dare to hope.

They call the girls for morning court.  My name is not on the list.  What if my name isn’t on the afternoon list either?  What if the judge says no?  I can’t even begin to think that going home today might actually happen.  And yet, in the back of my mind is the thought, the hope, I will talk to Batman today, I will call my girls, I will sleep in my own bed.  But I never allow any of those thoughts to take hold.  If I have learned nothing else while I’ve been here I have learned that nothing is certain, and nothing is guaranteed.

Lunch comes and there is no way I can eat.  I pace the upper tier, and worry.  I don’t dare even pack so much as a piece of paper, afraid that any outward sign I think I’m going home will jinx it and I’ll be stuck here forever.

A CO comes to the pod door, calls my name. Inside I am frozen with fear, outwardly I walk to the door as if it’s no big deal.  He hands me a stack of papers.  I look at them and realize the girls’ dad has filed a motion for custody.  I had always half expected it, but to see it here in black and white is a gut punch I’m not sure I can handle.  I blow it off as casually as I can, telling myself there is nothing I can do today. Tomorrow I can think about it. Today is all I can do.

The CO comes for the afternoon court transfer, and I am on this list.  I line up with all the others, and wait as we are all cuffed and shackled to walk from one building to the other.  For a minute, I am outside again, shackled to other inmates, but still, outside. This time there is sun, but I can’t allow myself to enjoy it.  I can only be in the minute, and I can  only focus on getting to court and in front of the judge.

Everyone around me is so sure I’ll go home, I am still just too afraid to hope, let alone believe.

And then, they call my name. I am led through a door, to stand before the judge.  He asks my name, mumbles something about my charges and some other things to the gentlemen standing beside me and we’re done.  I had to stop and ask the judge, “Your Honor, what just happened?” 

“You have been OR’d, you are being released”

I am going home.