Irene Paints the Bikes

Big sigh of relief for Saltaire.

This photo was shared by scyounger on Twitter.

I remember two previous hurricanes threatening our vulnerable barrier island and NYC.  The first was around 1991.  My in-laws were with us in Saltaire, and it was complicated to move my father-in-law, so we decided to stay.  After the worst was over, and the house stopped vibrating, we walked to the beach, with live power lines snapping on the ground and in the trees, and photographed the beach attacking the thin rim of sand that still remained.  The island had been sawed in half just about a half mile west, and the Great South Bay and the ocean had the reunion that we all know is coming someday.

“You can’t outthink a hurricane,” admonished one elderly resident the following week, when everything was back to normal.  And I agreed.  And I still do!  But it is neither arrogant nor dangerous to stick to my plan last night, that I would spend the day here and get my work done.  Nuts, there is another helicopter.

The second hurricane was around 1995.  I could probably get the date on Google in a second.  I’ll undoubtedly be embarrassed about how far off I am with both dates.  The events are a lot clearer to me:  I was on the beach, just having too good a time with my young son.  Once the lifeguard announced that the evacuation order was imminent, I biked back with Peter behind me on his kiddie seat, both of us probably singing Good Day Sunshine at the top of our lungs for the three minute ride home.   My middle daughter was waiting for me, pacing anxiously, maybe angrily, on the wooden walkway.  She had heard the news and gone into action, and though she was probably about 10, she had already packed for herself and the rest of us, put away the rest of the bikes and locked the doors, and was standing in front of the house, all ready for us to depart.  That’s when I knew for sure that Caroline could galvanize an army and problem-solve rings around her mother and anyone else.  We were on the next ferry.

I’ll take pictures before I leave.  Maybe take a look around and bring some precious relics with me.  Like my Macbook Pro and the draft of my book!

illustration by Dave Plunket in NYT 8.8.10

From all those people looking into screens rather than ahead, around, behind them, we can conclude that something superior  is right there on the screen.  Why would any dumb text message seem more interesting than real life?

Gary Shteyngart’s publicity is turned up way high, but everything I’ve read about him and by him is wonderful, so soon I”ll tuck into the terribly named Super Sad True Love Story.  As soon as I finish reading Moon and Six Pence for my book group.

I loved the review (Michael Wood) and the accompanying illustration.  Screens have indeed hijacked our eyeballs.  (Speaking of which, around 1995, I made some stupid quote about the NFL owning everyone’s eyeballs, and it keep turning up on blogs as if I said it yesterday.  It’s 15 years ago!  Cut me some slack!)  But I was playing around with Sky Watch and Layar this weekend and beginning to get what augmented reality may bring us.  I was going across the Great South Bay on my way to Fire Island, and right there on my iPhone, there was Wikipedia telling me about Saltaire.  Of course, to miss a second of the actual joy of SEEING Saltaire from the ferry is sad.

So, the usual ambivalence about how technology enhances and reduces our life.

For instance, on today’s usual morning run, Harold and I were shocked to see the ocean breach just west of Kismet.? Made the Burma road ( our local term for the dirt portion of the road that connects Kismet with the paved road that goes to the Robert Moses parking lots) better for running, but a worrisome sign.

So we walked back on the beach, which was frothy and in some places, washing right up to the dunes.? It was high tide and the swells were easily ten foot plus.? We passed a group of five women doing push-ups on the sand in perfect formation.? The leader said, ten more!? Down they went, in perfect formation, and rested.? Now ten more, she urged, listen to the ocean!? And when they were face down, the water came up, and yuck, sand sandwich and a gritty shampoo.

Nearer to Saltaire, the snow fences were down, and the surfers were out.? There were knots of people on the beach, all looking out to the horizon, which made you feel like a tidal wave was headed for you at any moment. Hurricane Bill may not have been very close, but we saw the long-range impact.

Wish we’d brought a camera.? So here’s the point:? assuming the need to tell someone about this interesting morning’s walk, I could blog, tweet, facebook update, email, text, call.? Heck, I could write a book.? (Or an article, since my children would tease me about making all events into articles.)? What I actually did was exchange some verbal ooohs and aaaahs with neighbors, posted a Facebook update about the breach (as if it were a PSA), and here I am now.

I do like reading Facebook updates, though I have already turned off the feeds from? some over-eager pals.? Maybe I’m getting equally verbose and they’re turning ME off.? Tweets?? Why would anyone follow me?

Bottom line is that I? haven’t figured out what content fits with what mode.? Now THERE’S a modern dilemma.