After beating her way up the coast, she gave New York City a licking, including a thorough flooding of Battery Park. (I forget that NYC is really quite low. A good tidal wave would take it out - fast.)
More than one person is stuck -- like my appraiser friend, in a Philly hotel room. So far, so she has no choice but to wait it out:
We are hunkered down in the Sheraton Suites hotel, half a mile from the Philadelphia airport, with Cheetos, a jar of peanut butter, some applesauce, peanuts, and two cans of tuna. The airport is closed, will be tomorrow too and our tickets have been changed five times. The latest redo was delivered via email from Delta this morning. But all four of us, fresh out of a dental conference this weekend in Philly, are warm, dry and kind of excited. We have suitcases of party clothes–men tuxedo’s and ladies outfits appropriate for the White House, or more correctly the Inn at the Union League. But practical hurricane gear? Not so much.
I barely made it out of Atlanta Sunday evening -- our flight was stuffed full, and flights around us were being cancelled like crazy. It was a relief to know I was heading west, not east.
Prayers and thoughts are with you, friends on the East Coast.
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