Thrills, Chills, and Historic Ice

The Great Ice Storm of 2004 made our dependence on electricity a very real and tangible thing.  I woke the morning after, unaware anything unusual had happened.  Growing up in Ohio makes it difficult for even the weather to surprise a person.  One virtually worn-out quote bandied about is "If you don't like the weather, stick around; it'll be different in five minutes."  This storm succeeded where others had failed.

The sound of rifle-shots followed with an unnatural quiet gradually seeped into my sleepy brain as I lay in bed.  I told Paul the power was off and either someone is shooting at us or branches are breaking off the trees.  He told me I was crazy and I got up to investigate.

What greeted me was almost indescribable in its eerie beauty.  Every branch, twig, surface, weed, everything exposed to the elements, was covered in glass.  Or at least it looked like glass.  Without traffic moving everything was silent, except for the occasional rifle-sound as branches and limbs snapped under the weight of the ice entombing them in a thick and heavy casing. When a slight breeze blew in, the scratching, cracking sound made me, for some reason as yet unclear, think of witches and brooms and the baking of small children named Hansel and Gretel.

What followed were weeks of power outages, broken trees, and general disruption to our lives.  Many less fortunate people were without heat and simply left their homes to stay with family, friends, or in a hotel. After electricity was restored some of them returned to find busted water pipes and general mayhem.

I am blessed with a husband who can do pretty much anything.  Were we shipwrecked on an island, we would soon be living in a tree house to rival the Robinson's. In short order he had hooked up a generator, stocked the living room with wood for the fireplace, and picked up our daughter and our three-week-old grandbaby from their unheated home.  Soon a sister and her children joined us and we spent the next week enjoying food, games, and a holiday at home.

I left once or twice to go to work; I was a nurse at the local hospital which was also running on generators.  Doctors and nurses came in before their shifts to take showers because they too, were without power at home.  The atmosphere everywhere was filled with a spirit of community; people helped each other and slowed from the frantic pace of normal life.  I've heard in crisis situations humans often rise to a higher standard than the mediocrity they frequently achieve in their day-to-day monotonous routines and I saw it happen.

The past few days the weather reports have been filled with predictions of impending disaster as another ice storm heads across a twenty-four hundred mile swath of the country.  The weather girls and boys tried without success to look distressed as they prognosticated about the likelihood of dire consequences sure to follow in the wake of the upcoming rain, sleet, snow, wind, and freezing temperatures.  Most people, wisely, prepared and are at this very moment sitting snug in their homes.

The roadways are at a "level two" on the hazard scale.  The closings have been announced.  Everything from doctors' offices, to support groups, to restaurants and flower shops are shut down.  I suppose people better be advised not to cut themselves or give birth or have a mental breakdown until the storm is over.

It's already been arranged that my daughter and her family will come to stay if the lights go out. Otherwise, I'll have to keep plugging away in the office getting tax paperwork done, paying bills, and catching up on computer tasks.

I wonder if I'm the only person that will be disappointed if the electricity stays on. 

Aging

I'm not sure when I first realized that every movement hurt.  I'd wake up in the night to answer the call and felt like the Tin Man after a rainstorm.  I could almost hear the creaking when I crawled out of bed in the morning.  After sitting a spell in my office, unfolding from my chair caused intense discomfort to all my hinged parts.

How did this happen without me noticing?  I mean, my parents were OLD when they talked about arthritis and rheumatism and bursitis and other unsavory joys of aging.  I'm not old.  I'm barely over half a century.  Saying the word fifty gives me unpleasant pangs not unlike my protesting joints.  What happened to the last two decades?  I still think I'm thirty. . . barely. And then I realize we celebrated my son's thirtieth birthday not long ago.  The math just isn't adding up. 

I'm realizing I have choices.  I can protest the reality of my years and try vainly to appear younger - the result of which would most likely be the opposite.  When I see a woman whose facial creases scream seventy while her raven hair rivals Morticia's. . .well, youth is not what comes to mind.  Seeing grandma in hot pants no matter how slim her legs, fools no one except, maybe, grandma. 

Better that I embrace the fact that I've lived such a full life, so far, that the years have simply flown past in such rapid succession I barely noticed their passing.  I can enjoy middle age and the priviledges inherent therein. No more staying up all night with a colicky infant.  No more worries about where my toddlers are and who they are annoying.  No more waiting up for my teenagers, wondering if I will need bail money in the morning. No more digging for an ID card if I choose to buy a bottle of wine on a whim. Instead of resenting young adults when they call me "ma'am" I can hold my head up and pretend they are showing me respect.

So my muscles ache and my joints creak.  At least I still have so much to do I have a reason to move them.  Ibuprofen is readily available along with a plethora of herbs and vitamins guaranteeing unending longevity in a body bursting with vitality and health.  Indeed, according to the fantastic claims of the health gurus, it's a wonder anyone ever dies.  Not only will we live forever, with the fantastic colon cleanses and bowel activators one need never fear the inability to move, at least your bowels, in the event all else freezes up.

I'm actually at the perfect age.  Old enough I need not ask permission to do what I want and young enough to want to do it.  Old enough to know better and young enough to enjoy it anyway.  Old enough to realize how quickly time slips away and young enough to set new priorities.  Old enough to have countless great memories and young enough to make countless more.

I hope I'll have the wisdom to throw out the hair dye when it's time to embrace silver hair. I hope that rather than refuse assistance when I need it, I'll set a few trends with my stylin' canes and funky glasses.  I hope I never wear polyester pant suits and I hope I'll always be too busy to play shuffleboard.  I hope I never forget to live as long as I'm alive.

Happiness

Yesterday I read something that seems, in retrospect, so simple I can't believe it has never occurred to me before. A "not able to see the forest for the trees" kind of thing.  Happiness, it seems, is achieved in bits and pieces, seized by those alert to its availability as it flits by, invisible to the less observant.

A cluttered shelf that has bothered me for weeks, cleaned and put to rights is a moment of happiness.  A refrigerator spilling over with outdated sauces and furry leftovers, purged and polished, is another moment of happiness.  A warm chocolate chip cookie, savored with an ice-cold glass of milk and a five-minute break from a hectic day is yet another happy moment.  Well, you get the idea.  I know as soon as I read this concept that it could change my life if I put conscience effort into recognizing and enjoying the simple pleasures that inundate my life. 

So the guy in the black Audi who cut me off in traffic may be a jerk, or he may be just a guy having a very stressful day.  And now he's added stress to my day.  But I avoided hitting him so that's good, and the cup of coffee in my car's console is steaming and tastes great.  So I take a big swig and really taste it.  And smell it.  And realize how enjoyable that moment in time is.  Meanwhile the jerk is gone, careening through traffic far ahead.  And I've still got half a cup of coffee left to enjoy and twenty minutes of solitude before I reach my destination - the business supply superstore filled with other harried people, unaware of anything except the long list of obligations filling their day.  Another sip of coffee, another enjoyable sensation, another spurt of energy as the dark, hot liquid does its job.

I mull over this epiphany and watch for more joy along my path.  I see the flashing lights at the side of the road, ahead, in the distance.  Like all the traffic, I merge into the left lane to allow plenty of room, thankful the lights aren't lingering behind my car.  As I pass the trooper and the black Audi stopped in front of him, I realize yet another moment of happiness.