Life throws you that spitball. Your plans don't count because your plans were based on being allowed to work out your career and end it when you planned.
Looking on the weather wunderground, I see that Fred is still feeding the woodstove and wearing the multiple layers of clothes he was lamenting in his essay. While I am enjoying the open door and the porch rocker, Fred is still dreaming his summer weather dreams.
Through this all, I couldn't bring myself to document the damage with my camera...It was enough just to see what was what...So on I drove. All the way around the island...through the Strand...Along Broadway...And finally over the new Causeway...And here was where the totality of the destruction hit me...