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Alas, this is not a romantic interlude, however middle-American. It's the result of a tree taking down a power line in mid-afternoon, while several of us were reading manuscripts for the NY Review of SF. Lacking any better idea of what to do while waiting for David and Kathryn, who actually live there, to return with groceries, we adjourned to the porch, and read by daylight. Dim daylight, because it was a rainy day.
David and Kathryn returned in due course, and found a few oil lamps and several candles. Fortunately, while the stove is electric, the grill is propane-fueled, and they'd been planning on grilling sausages and such for supper anyway, so that went on without a hitch. We talked about the manuscripts, and sf publishing and cons more generally, and blackouts of the past. After supper, I asked for a ride to the station because I'd run out of manuscript to read, and there was no other useful work to do with the power still off.
I was basically dry until I got off the A train, thanks to a combination of train and bus shelters and a conveniently located scaffolding over the sidewalk between the railroad and the bus stop. By the time I'd walked the third of a mile from the A to my house, my jacket was wet clear through, but![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cattitude had put a kettle up, and the wet air was scented with locust. The only real annoyance was damp eyeglasses--but not too damp to avoid puddles, or to spot the mallards under the birch tree.
David and Kathryn returned in due course, and found a few oil lamps and several candles. Fortunately, while the stove is electric, the grill is propane-fueled, and they'd been planning on grilling sausages and such for supper anyway, so that went on without a hitch. We talked about the manuscripts, and sf publishing and cons more generally, and blackouts of the past. After supper, I asked for a ride to the station because I'd run out of manuscript to read, and there was no other useful work to do with the power still off.
I was basically dry until I got off the A train, thanks to a combination of train and bus shelters and a conveniently located scaffolding over the sidewalk between the railroad and the bus stop. By the time I'd walked the third of a mile from the A to my house, my jacket was wet clear through, but
cattitude had put a kettle up, and the wet air was scented with locust. The only real annoyance was damp eyeglasses--but not too damp to avoid puddles, or to spot the mallards under the birch tree.