Autism's Edges Meets Rivers Edges

We lasted almost three days in our cold, dark apartment.  No electricity, of course.  No heat, a surprise.  And no cell phone service.

But last night, after a cold grey day, as the gloaming began, we all started to lose it.  Our girl began crying -- I want the power back, I want the power back.  I felt like crying, but bucked up.  Then I decided we had to leave -- get to a hotel.  Get somewhere warm, dry, safe, with lights, and electricity, and internet service.

There's something about the in-between spaces.  Between the river and the land.  Between the day and the night. Here, the river's edge, twelve hours before the storm landed.

We have a back-up phone -- an old copper wire non-electric phone (at heart I am a secret survivalist) -- so last evening, on the edge between day and night, I called a hotel.

And today we are at the hotel. We hope we can stay until the power comes back.  We might not have a room for the whole time.  Because of the Marathon.  Don't ask this New Yorker what she thinks about diverting resources to the Marathon during a period of devastation.

Everyone here seems to be storm refugee. The stories are heartbreaking,  I am sitting in the lobby writing this -- the wifi in the room doesn't work because of all the troubles, and our girl is on the ethernet, catching up on her YouTube programs.

Our last few days involved . . .

Boiling water for bathing and heating the apartment.  Works for the former, not for the latter.

Reading lots of books.

And painting. Both our girl and I were painting.

We have come to know what it means to be on edge. Really at the edges.

We've taken up art therapy at Autism's Edges.