Life on Long Island is slowly returning to normal. The queues for petrol have all but gone, thanks to gasoline rationing (you can only go on an even-numbered day of the month if your number plate ends in an even number, and so forth). Most people in town have their power back (but only just - one friend got it back on Sunday night); the local library is looking less like a refugee camp. The daily phone messages from the town emergency management officer are drying up; some people say they will actually miss him and his calming messages, as they felt he was the one voice of reason in a crazy world. Oh, and the head of LIPA (Long Island Power Authority) has resigned. No-one is too sorry about that one.
The landscape still looks a little like "Godzilla had gone through it", as one friend put it. Trees snapped in half, gardens ruined. But this is nothing compared to the South Shore of Long Island and the Rockaways (just 15 miles or so from here), where whole communities have been ruined; houses flooded and the streets are lined with debris, while two weeks of unflushed toilets mean a stench pervades the air. Some people I know have driven down there to help, taking supplies for those who have lost everything; their reports back are startling, horrific.
But restoration is happening. And that is what I need as well. Someone to restore me to health. I'm still in pain with my sciatica. Six weeks of worrying and not sleeping are taking their toll, and sometimes I don't know what are real symptoms and what are imagined. I've been checked out physically with blood tests; nothing is apparently wrong. But I still don't feel right. My body, equilibrium and mind are out of whack; my whole body feels stiff and ungainly and it feels as if there's a great weight pressing down on me from above. I keep wondering what happened to the fit, healthy, happy person I was three months ago. Thank goodness for my boys (all three of them). They keep me going. Littleboy 2 wrote me a note the other night: "I love mummy mor than anyone can thik" (sic). You can't crack up completely when you have a little boy like that around.
So, it goes on. And we wait for restoration.