What a luxury it is to touch a switch and make light. To turn a knob and make heat. To keep food safe in a refrigerator for days, weeks or even months. To type a question on my computer and have an immediate answer.
We forget how blessed we are, but many Oregonians got a terse reminder over the past few days as an ice storm sent temperatures plummeting into the 20s. Trees fell, transformers blew, and power lines dangled in the wind as ice coated everything, making the roads impassable, even as it etched beautiful designs on plants, puddles and windowpanes.
Some people were without power for four or five days. Schools and businesses closed. The recreation center was turned into an emergency shelter for those living with no heat or lights. Garbage pickup and mail were delayed. Government officials declared a state of emergency and begged people to stay home.
I was relatively lucky. Everything was working at my house in South Beach last weekend, but at St. Anthony’s church in Waldport, where I play piano and lead the choir on Saturdays, the lights went out just before Mass, taking the electric piano with it. We lit candles and carried on. I led with a borrowed guitar, and the people in the pews sang more boisterously than usual, perhaps feeling more confident in the dark. It was beautiful. But I kept thinking about the homemade clam chowder I had waiting for me back in South Beach and hoping I had electricity to heat it up.
I did. It was delicious. Mom’s recipe.
My power went out for a few hours during the night but returned in time for me to carry on my usual Sunday chores.
I was watching “Ugly Betty” on Netflix Monday night when the internet quit. Suddenly I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was so used to going from one screen to another—computer, tablet, TV, phone—that I didn’t know what to do with myself. I moped for a few minutes and went to bed.
I still had no Internet yesterday morning. I could not check my bank account, answer my emails, work on book promotion, or post on Facebook. I would miss my weekly poetry workshop. But I still had electricity. I could write and I did. I could play music and I did. I could bake muffins and I did. I could satisfy my craving for eggs and bacon by cooking them for lunch. I ate them with a warm pepper jelly muffin dripping with butter.
And then, while I was sitting by the fireplace reading emails after lunch, the great silence and darkness fell. No internet, no stove, no TV, no lights, no way to know who else was sitting in the dark. I went for a walk. It was 36 degrees plus wind chill but not as dark as it was in my house. On the street, everything looked the same as usual except for the ice designs in the puddles.
Back home, huddling by the fire again, I pulled my guitar over and started playing through my list of instrumentals. Coming to the ones I had written, I got an urge to look at all of my original songs. I haven’t written many songs lately, but some of these older ones were really good. I came upon a song I had never played in public because it didn’t quite work. I spent the next couple hours rewriting it, struggling to see, groaning in frustration when I couldn’t quite get it right. By dusk, the song and I were happy with each other.
I decided to wash my baking dishes while I could still see by the light from the window. As I sponged batter and jelly off the muffin pans, I planned my evening. Forget the Zoom poetry reading and open mic that had been on my calendar for weeks. I would eat a cheese or tuna sandwich for dinner, with my melting ice cream for dessert. I could call a friend or relative on the old princess phone I still keep plugged in. I could write by candlelight, do yoga, play some more music, and go to bed early.
But then, the stove clock squeaked and the lights came on. The internet soon followed. I felt teary with gratitude. I could cook real food, attend the poetry reading, watch TV, or do anything I wanted. I was so lucky. Some of my friends had been without power for four days. Some were trapped in their houses by ice and fallen trees. But here, the lights were on, and the temperature was rising. It would go up to 52 by bedtime.
The schools are still closed today. It’s going to take a while for things to get back to normal. I’m just hoping to buy groceries and make a dent in my to-do list. There’s also that song waiting for me on my piano. I need to make sense of my scrawls and scratch-outs and get comfortable singing it. The title: “Save This Moment.”
I think of the people suffering from the weather everywhere–some places have seen temperatures way below zero with many feet of snow. I think of the people living in war-torn countries where they can’t even get food or medical care, where they don’t know if their loved ones are still alive. That I can’t get on the internet or heat my tea is such a tiny inconvenience. Be grateful, friends, and treasure the moment.
How has this stormy time affected you? Have you lost trees, power, or heat? Did you have to evacuate? What has been the hardest part? What are you grateful for now that the rain is melting the ice here and things may be improving elsewhere, too?
I welcome your comments.
Unleashed in Oregon 