It is 4:00 in the morning on Sunday, and Hurricane Irene is not done with us yet.

According to the weather dudes, she hasn't gotten up to speed around here.

Oh joy.

Howard is in Manhattan until Monday night, so Anne and Dion and I are holding down the fort.

It's awfully noisy; we have a translucent ceiling in the sunroom and every drop can be heard.

The winds are just now picking up, there have been a few thuds outside, and I can't settle down to go to bed.  Yet.  Or, at all.

Stay tuned; all will be made clear. Well, not really clear. . . you'll see!

************************************************

On Saturday, when we traveled down to the Jersey shore
to pick up my 99-cent high-class Hooker coffee table
(read about that here, if you are curious),
we had brilliant sunshine on the Garden State Parkway.

The last time we saw this much water swamp That Old House this quickly, was the first day we owned it.

We ran for our soggy lives from the driveway into the sunroom.

It was also the day we discovered that rain on a conservatory roof is really loud,

and that the boiler room gets puddles during very heavy downpours.

Welcome, Mr and Mrs New Mortgageowner, to your new home!

These pictures aren't great, because they were taken through rain-spattered glass, but you can see the water
a couple of inches deep on top of the patio pavers, with ripples from the wind on the surface.

Irene is already causing our shutters to flap and tree limbs to go flying,

and odd things to thud against the house.  And our patio is already covered in a few inches of water.

Can't wait to see what else she has in store.

And she's spawning tornadoes.  Charming.

Believe it or not, there's good reason to call New Jersey by its nickname:  The Garden State.

On Sunday evening, having rescued the sunroom from the plastic shrouds from the conservatory cleaning,

and moving paint cans and tools and other Howard-y things back down to the now-French-drained cellar:

We decided to share a simple summer supper with my sister Peggy and her husband Bill.

Hmmm . . . our first customer!

Master Dion asks to join us at the table.  But as always, he is disappointed with our answer.

He looks for a second opinion.  No joy there, either.

Ugh.  Peggy's right.  Meat does not photograph well.  Ick.

I remember when we were kids, our Mom didn't serve corn on the cob until after we'd eaten the rest of the meal;

otherwise her corn-happy kids would eat only the corn, she said.  And she was probably right.

***********************************************************************************

I haven't done a blog post since last Thursday. 

I had one planned for Friday,

but after the appalling news from Norway broke, I could not settle down to posting.

I am a second-generation American, whose family all came originally from that small country.

But it was not because it happened in Norway -- it was that I could not stop thinking about the parents

of those teenage campers, and grieving for them.  Their pain is unimaginable.

Between tears I am angry with the perpetrator, and with police for their slow response.

I am not sure angry is the right word to describe what I feel, mixed as it is with frustration.

No matter how peaceful a country, in these days -- sadly -- we must all be prepared for that unimaginable event. 

A television crew managed to charter a helicopter and get to the island when the police could not.

Well, I'm going to work myself up into a weepy mess again, so ... enough.

*****************************************************************

This morning, I found a very special comment on my Thursday post.  It's from a woman named Jill, who has been blog surfing for awhile, but just discovered That Old House.

Wow.  Jill, I want to tell you that some members of our own family keep in touch with what's going on here by checking the blog, too!   Blogging, especially the type of personal blogging that so many of us do, is remarkable because it's so very much a two-way street.  

I began back in 2008, just reading other blogs, and talking a little bit to myself on my own.

When people started reading -- much to my surprise! -- I learned how to take and post pictures.

And I've read more and more blogs -- experienced births and deaths, holidays, job crises, health issues, joyful news and heart-wrenching stories, learned how to do all sorts of things, expanded my recipe repertoire, and most fun of all . . . gotten that peek into someone else's home & family, that little peek that let's me know that we're all in this together.

We may live in the North East, or the Far West, in Canada or England or the Philipines or France -- but we all -- and we are overwhelmingly women -- we all are sisters under our many-colored skins and even more colorful hair!

You know what blogging is for me?

It has given me a voice.  When I write, I'm not just talking to myself anymore.

It has also given voices back to me, especially at difficult times.

My most-commented-on posts were the ones about losing first our mom, and then our Pop.

And so many strangers become no-longer-strangers with their kind words and their own sharings.

I look forward to you starting your own blog!

And we'll all be here to give you a hand.

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In the sunroom, Anne has left a box on a loveseat.  In it, hats she made in a millinery class.

She's off to the city again, as she is most days.

But when she returns to her apartment in August, I will miss her.  Messes and all.

On the table, gone are the dishes from last night, gone and washed and back on the shelves.

Instead . . . some Goodwill finds.

So here I sit with my laptop, and at my feet a basket of sea and shore themed Beanie Babies.

They belonged to our girls, but most of their old Beanie Babies went to a former neighbor's children,

and these few are heading for the beach house.

But what's this?  The Manatee has tumbled out of the nest! 

And please don't tell our macho Cavalier spaniel Dion that his

grooming brush basket has a pink handle.  Thanks!  -- Cass

Join Mary at Little Red House for Mosaic Monday!  Click here.

Rounding out a day feathering my nest by

cleaning and redecorating and

finally a walk through my garden...

I baked a cake.

My daughter and I watched an episode of

Paula Deen's cooking show.

She was making recipes from her mother 

and grandmothers.

My husband wanted something sweet

so I baked Paula Deen's Grandmother's 

I topped the cake with sauteed apples and homemade 

whipped cream...
*Special note:
I didn't have the 1 cup of sour cream required
in the recipe so I added 1/2 cup of plain greek yogurt
to the 1/2 cup of sour cream. It worked nicely.
This cake has a lovely texture and taste
reminds me of a good wedding cake.
Also, on the show Paula emphasized to
place the cake in a cold oven then set it to
325 for 1 hour; then adjust the temperature
to 350 for 30 minutes - no peeking!*

I am sharing this post with

Designs by Gollum

My garden after the rain

After the tumult of the evening and in a moment of quiet the birds begin to sing 
and to find their spot on our lawn searching for those worms who are sure 
to have risen. The sky still looks forboding, but I wanted to venture 
out to see how things fared the night

There's just something about the garden after a rain, whether 
it be a gentle soak or a thunderous downpour...

I always felt that rainwater was better for our gardens than tap water - 
and I see I am not alone in this thought -