We woke to no power. We were not alone, along with our hotel and Jane’s place, 700,000+ other households in Southeast Michigan were also without electricity. We missed being able to stay at Harry’s, what with his backup generator. He still had power at his new place. I showered in the dark, while Anne bathed by the light of her iPhone. Fortunately, the hotel hadn’t lost power until after seven in the morning, so there was hot coffee. I snagged the last cup. After checkout, we had to drive into town before we found a coffee place that still had electricity. After coffee, we swung by a UPS store to turn in the router that had been at Harry’s. It was a perfectly painless process. Not having anything else to do, we returned to Jane’s and called an Uber. The first one hailed took one look at us, drove on by us and decided not to stop. Maybe it was the Missouri plates or the four Trump bumper stickers on the car next to ours, I don’t know? The second Uber called did stop to pick us up. It’s driver had worked all night, 13 hours straight, and we were his last fare. He regaled us with horror stories from through the night. We got to the airport early, found an out of the way corner to sit, wrote this post and waited for our flight.
We are in Ann Arbor tonight, spending our last night at Chez Harry’s, ever. As you can see from the photo, things have been significantly cleared out. Harry, Jane, et. Al. have done a monumental job of moving stuff out of the house. What stuff that is still in the house has a well-defined exit strategy that should be implemented by the time we return from up north. The night before and after our flights to and from Boston, we will be hoteling it. Harry should be proud of what he has accomplished, because earlier this week, while on a walk through the rich neighborhood that adjoins our little slum, we saw a very sad sight. A home there had a dumpster parked in the street before it and not one of those small dumpsters, but a walk-in one, as big as they come. Half-a-dozen people were carrying stuff out to it, in a seemingly never-ending fire bucket brigade. It was a sad sight to see, a sight that Harry has avoided in his own case.
Soon after we arrived in town, Harry whisked us off to his new place, All Seasons, which I keep wanting to call Four Seasons, as in the Philly lawn and gardening place, but that’s just me. It is brand new, has excellent curb appeal and at the moment is less than a third full. Dinner was excellent. Harry had the lamb chops, Anne had their Whitefish, which had a fancy Italian name, bronzini, and I had a filet minion. Like I said, the food was excellent, but the best part of the meal occurred after we were done eating. First one and then another and another resident came to the table to introduce themselves or rather reintroduce themselves. Invariably, their first question asked was are you Harry R? One, Gordon, Harry had hired as a French teacher lo these many years ago. Further, Harry also hired a woman, who later became Gordon’s current wife. The wife of another teacher friend later reintroduced herself by way of saying, “It really is a small world after all.” Cue the music, Jane. She still has a drink recipe that Harry had shared with her many years ago and has invited him over for drinks.