Last year The Princess and I were in Paris during hurricane Irene. By the time we returned a few days had already passed, the refrigerator had already gone rotten, the items in the freezer were already unfrozen though ice cold, and the downed trees in our driveway had already been moved. The power had been out for days and it took a few more days before it returned. The first night was probably the worst because we had been on an airplane for 7 hours, then in a car for 2 and were eagerly awaiting a long shower and a good poop. Instead I spent an hour emptying out the refrigerator and BBQing steaks. Still, not the worst thing to return to. The house had only minor damage, our neighbours moved our outdoor breakables, and one of our friends had hurried over before the storm, presciently moving the cars from their usual parking spot – the trees that came down would have crushed them both had they not been moved. The first dark nights were fun and romantic – candles, banding together, and just when we were getting annoyed with the whole situation the power was back.

Hurricane Sandy was different. We were here to tune in to the ongoing warnings, the Franenstorm! chatter, the panic. We were around to pick up the phone when the city robocalled with an evacuation notice – we’re near but not in the mandatory evacuation area. We were here to consider our distance from the water and be reassured that we weren’t at risk from it, then wander around the house and determine which trees might fall and what part of the house would be endangered. All seemed well, so we filled up the bathtubs (we have well water which requires an electric pump), charged our phones and laptops and back up batteries, brought everything we could indoors and battened down the rest.

Around noon on Monday we went for a walk down the street from us, down being the operative word.

Beautiful stream?

Or flooded road?

Remember, these were taken before the storm officially even touched down.