Don and I are tired out. Don, of course, is even more tired than me because of Lyme. I spent a couple of hours cleaning up the yard (except for the downed tree, of course.) There were torn branches, downed branches, bushes that were hanging by a thread – everywhere. I had my loppers and a small saw with me and did what I could to clean up low hanging branches and all the debris that was scattered everywhere. The coleus that was planted in my vintage pots was broken in some places. Most everything looks a little tattered.
Such destruction with one huge gust of wind.
Then the arborist stopped by without even telling us he was coming. He didn’t have on a mask, but he kept well away from us as we stayed on the porch. Not only did he examine the tree, he looked at all the trees surrounding the house. I know that the big maple by the porch needs pruning. And I’m sure others do, too. I’m dreading the estimate, but nothing is going to happen right away, anyway, as he has to take care of people who have trees blocking their driveways or, even worse, that have landed on their houses.
There was a huge amount of damage from the hurricane and there are many who still don’t have power.
Today, we’re laying low. It’s been a surreal couple of days and I can see it taking a toll on Don. He’s been through a lot lately.
This morning, – for a split second – I thought it was August 15th. Why? This – everything, the pandemic, the insanity in DC, Don’s illness, the hurricane, self-isolating – has left my brain in a muddle and no amount of coffee seems to be cutting through the fog.
It will get better, I know.
I’m quite enjoying Melmoth. I should finish it today. Then, I think, I’ll move on to Hamnet, unless the Michael Connelly arrives in today’s mail. If that happens, I just may move onto Connelly first because he is always a guaranteed pleasure to read and a wonderful escape.
That’s all I have energy for today, my friends.
Stay safe.
Happy Thursday.