Knowing I run the risk of sounding as if I am issuing royal health reports (The king is resting. The king has fallen into a coma. The crown prince is having his coronet fitted.), I thought I would let you know what is happening on the storm front.
Last night we had a thunderstorm with accompanying lightening. Because I am a good electronic steward, I shut down the computer and unplugged everything.
This morning I tried to turn on the computer. Nada. I tried it on battery only. Nada. I took out the battery. Nada.
I simply reconciled myself to the fact that you would all assume I was dead and eventually wander off to blogs about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens -- or whatever your favorite things might be. And Jiggs and I would wallow in our pity. Well, I would. Jiggs knows no pity.
During my Spanish class yesterday, I noticed that the salt air had begun to corrode the gold on my fountain pen. That gave me an idea.
I popped open the computer's battery again, and, sure enough, there were salt crystals on the contacts. Enough salt crystals to flavor a family size popcorn at the neighborhood cinema.
The battery went back in. And, voilà (or whatever it is in Spanish), here I am again.
Enough about process. Where's the carne? Or, more to the point, where's Andres?
Jiggs insisted on his morning walk around 8. A quick look outside disclosed a usual morning at the beach where rain was a possibility. And no blustering hurricane.
So, off we went, down the street greeting the two or three people who are out, and down to the beach where Jiggs began his McGruff impression -- sniffing out crime and tasty tidbits.
One moment, we are on a warm beach with overcast sky. The next moment, it was as if we had strayed onto a Gene Kelly movie set in Paris.
I am accustomed to tropical rain. Anyone who has walked in Miami on a summer afternoon around 4 knows what I mean. The rain comes out of nowhere. Well, it comes out of the sky.
But this rain was accompanied with strong winds. Winds strong enough that a woman lost her balance in the sand.
Jiggs loved it. The wind, that is. He started running and twisting in circles -- as if he were a young dog. He thought it was pure joy. When I ordered him home, he sulked the entire four blocks.
But that was not Andres. Just a precursor, so we are told.
It is now almost noon. Andres does not look as if it will turn into a hurricane because it is starting to head seaward. However, I would not want to be on a sail boat caught in the tropical storm that it shall be. But we have apparently dodged the bullet on land.
As long as the hurricane warning is in place, we will keep an eye out. But Jiggs is pestering me for another walk on the beach. So, off we go.
More later.
By the way, the king is better. The crown prince pawned his coronet.
Last night we had a thunderstorm with accompanying lightening. Because I am a good electronic steward, I shut down the computer and unplugged everything.
This morning I tried to turn on the computer. Nada. I tried it on battery only. Nada. I took out the battery. Nada.
I simply reconciled myself to the fact that you would all assume I was dead and eventually wander off to blogs about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens -- or whatever your favorite things might be. And Jiggs and I would wallow in our pity. Well, I would. Jiggs knows no pity.
During my Spanish class yesterday, I noticed that the salt air had begun to corrode the gold on my fountain pen. That gave me an idea.
I popped open the computer's battery again, and, sure enough, there were salt crystals on the contacts. Enough salt crystals to flavor a family size popcorn at the neighborhood cinema.
The battery went back in. And, voilà (or whatever it is in Spanish), here I am again.
Enough about process. Where's the carne? Or, more to the point, where's Andres?
Jiggs insisted on his morning walk around 8. A quick look outside disclosed a usual morning at the beach where rain was a possibility. And no blustering hurricane.
So, off we went, down the street greeting the two or three people who are out, and down to the beach where Jiggs began his McGruff impression -- sniffing out crime and tasty tidbits.
One moment, we are on a warm beach with overcast sky. The next moment, it was as if we had strayed onto a Gene Kelly movie set in Paris.
I am accustomed to tropical rain. Anyone who has walked in Miami on a summer afternoon around 4 knows what I mean. The rain comes out of nowhere. Well, it comes out of the sky.
But this rain was accompanied with strong winds. Winds strong enough that a woman lost her balance in the sand.
Jiggs loved it. The wind, that is. He started running and twisting in circles -- as if he were a young dog. He thought it was pure joy. When I ordered him home, he sulked the entire four blocks.
But that was not Andres. Just a precursor, so we are told.
It is now almost noon. Andres does not look as if it will turn into a hurricane because it is starting to head seaward. However, I would not want to be on a sail boat caught in the tropical storm that it shall be. But we have apparently dodged the bullet on land.
As long as the hurricane warning is in place, we will keep an eye out. But Jiggs is pestering me for another walk on the beach. So, off we go.
More later.
By the way, the king is better. The crown prince pawned his coronet.
