Thursday a neighborhood pastry chef who recently married an all-round chef brought us a hurricane survival kit made up of petit fours, cookies and biscotti. Because ours is such a partying neighorhood, our party group, The Porchpots (pots=potatoes, because so many old houses have porches, a great place to have a drink) began sharing ideas on how to celebrate a hurricane. One neighbor was going to miss Evita, so someone wrote a parody on "Don't Cry for me Argentina," another on Hamlet's famous soliloquy. Some in sturdier houses took in folks from smaller cottages. One complained that she had plenty of water, dog food and wine, but didn't know what she should wear to a hurricane. I took a piece from the great web spot, "10 ways to prepare for a hurricane with duct tape" where they suggested that since duct tape is water proof it would make the perfect hurricane garment. That led to suggestions on accessories. We will combine our celebration of our escape from a real hurricane with a neighborhood wedding celebration next week.

Gilbert, our cat, spent the windiest hours in bed, next to Hilary, in his most relaxed position: legs up in the air, tummy in a position to be rubbed. The calmer times he spent in the new bed Lyda knitted for him. We had to postpone our trip to the Texas State Fair in Dallas where Lyda won first prize for her big knitted afghan.

Hilary was ready to take dramatic pictures with his relatively new digital camera, but there wasn't anything that dramatic.