It was a beautiful warm November day and Charlie and Jim had a lovely bike ride in the morning and looked forward to a long one in Liberty State Park to Bayonne.
After dutifully waiting two hours after lunch, Charlie jumped to load up the car with bikes and helmets and the bike pump. Then we discovered that he was visibly sweating and fevery.
He insisted on going and we went, guardedly, to Jersey City to find the park closed and a police officer directing people (except for boat owners, perhaps to view their damaged property -- ships shorn of their masts?) to turn around. Charlie said NO to start biking in the parking lot where I'd met him and Jim on a ride two weeks ago, as the hurricane was coming.
We saw more of Sandy's effects as we drove through the city. The metal door of Charlie's favorite Vietnamese restaurant was pulled down (though the psychic on the second floor was still in operation). We got him something from what I call the "industrial strength" Vietnamese restaurant (for one thing, it is quite a bit cheaper) and headed home. Charlie dozed fitfully.
He woke at home and ate a little and, though yawning, would not sleep. Then he was in extreme agitation for two hours. He worked it through, asking repeatedly to get a burrito, a sign of more intense stomach distress, we have reason to suspect (not so much from the different food; his stomach had not been cooperating, so to speak, all weekend).
We went on an evening walk and Charlie went to the basement and brought up some photos of him as a toddler, sorting through to put the ones of himself and Barney on top. "It's little Charlie!" I said. "Little Charlie," said Charlie. We tend to make a bit of a deal about how Charlie is now a "big boy" (as he is). I said, "you're still little Charlie. Always little Charlie." That brought some pleased swaying back and forth on the feet and also a pleased expression.
His forehead and hands cool, Charlie went to bed to the (familiar, and liked by all of us) sound of ocean waves.