As the day stretched into evening, the snow was relentless. Rachael and I put on “Waiting for Guffman” while Sam went on the computer. Everything was pretty low-key for most of the night. The first signs of trouble started as Sam’s bedtime approached. A couple of lights began with a barely perceptible flicker. It was the kind of display where you wonder if your eyes are failing, or if there is a more serious problem. This question was dispelled within moments when the power seemed to be cut in half and the lights went dim. “What the heck?” Sam blurted. The computer had just shut down on him. As this was happening, the picture on the TV was shrinking and expanding like it was gasping for air. I hadn’t seen a TV acting this way since the old tube types from when I was a kid. It was all pretty weird and a little disconcerting. This was the kind of display you would see in the movies, right before the aliens came waltzing through the door with their probes. We shut off the TV and VCR in case it decided to blow up, or worse, ruin the DVD before we got to finish it. “Waiting for Guffman” would have to wait a little longer. Just as we shut it off, everything went black.
I rustled up an old camping lantern and some flashlights. Outside, the snow was still coming down, heavy and wet. Trees were leaning under the oppressive weight. The forsythia out front was leaning to the point where it looked like it was praying for mercy. None would be forthcoming. In a real winter, it would have been perfect for making a snowman. But this was just wrong. Through the window I could see lights flashing from somewhere just out of sight. I put on my coat, grabbed my camera and went outside to see what was going on.
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| Winter Wonderland |
When I stepped onto the street, I saw there was a police cruiser and utility truck across from the end of our road. Walking in my direction, away from the commotion, were two figures silhouetted by the flashing light. As they got closer, I could see that it was my neighbor Lawnmower Man and his buddy, heading back to their home. “What’s going on?” I asked. These are probably the first words I’ve spoken to Lawnmower Man in a couple of years. Usually I try not to make eye contact. It generally causes problems and I don’t want anything to be construed as me needing a friend. Tonight was an exception though, it was nearly unavoidable. It also seemed the appropriate move since the three of us were face to face on a pitch black street... and there was a cop car within screaming distance. They proceeded to regale me with the story of how a branch fell against the electrical wires and transformer, which resulted in various explosions and flashes in blue and green. The phrase “It was awesome” was used repeatedly by Not Lawnmower Man, as Lawnmower Man gave me the blow by blow. Looking past them to the telephone pole on the corner, I could see the aforementioned tree branch baring down on a way too low wire. Sure enough, these two weren’t just stoned. I gave the appropriate look of interest, nodded, and we headed in our separate directions. The sounds of more trees snapping could be heard in the distance.
The scene on the main road was both eerie and beautiful. Rachael later commented, correctly, that it looked like a Christmas scene (except for the police and linemen, that is). The air had that strange stillness that only comes with the falling snow. Only the occasional voices of the workers and the sounds of the running truck could be heard. I looked around and snapped a couple of photos. Then I thought that maybe it wasn’t a good idea. People have a way of getting blamed for things when they’re crazy enough to go out in the dark, when no one else is around and start taking pictures of the police. At least, so I’ve heard. I don't need to be answering questions like "Why is Dad getting clubbed in the head?", not to mention the actual getting clubbed in the head part. I left shortly after the linemen did.
Back inside, Rachael was at the candle lit table and Sam waited in vain for the computer to come back on. Sam wasn’t happy. “Well” I said, “Think of it as an adventure.” I really believed it at the time.
It’s been a long time since the power went out. The last long stretch I remember was when I was a little kid. I remember Mom breaking out her little Sterno stove and heating up food for us. And although cooking for us was something she did all the time, this was special. Through the haze of forty-odd years, I remember it as being great fun. Why should this be any different? Heck, this was going to be like camping! I was partly right. I just wasn’t considering that it was going to be like camping in the middle of winter.
I found some battery powered tea lights and set one in Sam’s room for a night light, and one in the hall as well. I bundled him up with a couple of layers of clothes, pulled on his hat and piled extra blankets on him. I assured him, despite what he was thinking, that this was fun; that this was like an adventure. He wasn’t buying it. I wasn’t either.
Morning came without any power, but least the snow had stopped. Rachael and I ventured out to see what was was going on in the rest of the world. At the end of our road, another massive branch rested on the wires, dangling directly above the stop sign, ready to shoot through the car like a giant pool cue. Across the street, the donut shop was without power. Cars would slow down as they approached, as if passing a bad accident. The looks of horror and confusion on the drivers’ faces made it clear that this was far more serious. We laughed at these people who were slaves to their morning coffee. We drove by MacDonald’s, where the cars were lined up at the drive-up window, backing up all the way into the road. Apparently the drivers, in their un-caffeinated fog, didn’t realize that MacDonald’s was without power as well. Instead, the drivers blindly continued lining up, like lemmings, waiting with growing anticipation in front of the speaker for a voice that would never come. “How long would people wait in line before they realized?”, I wondered. “Who’s at the head of this line? Are they waiting there patiently or are they out of their car, hair frazzled, in their bathrobe, clubbing the speaker at this very moment?” Rachael and I laughed again.
As we continued to drive around, we decided, “You know what? A cup of coffee
would taste pretty good.” Outsmarting everyone else, we drove to the other end of town where there was another MacDonald's. This one was pleasantly free of the hoards that surrounded it’s beleaguered twin. Pulling up to the building, we squinted at the door. “Is there a light on in there? I think I see someone!” Rachael pointed out the hand written sign on the door: “Closed. No Power.” What were we going to do? We needed coffee, damn it!
Across the street was a grocery store. “There’s a bakery in there”, I said. “They must have coffee too.” We pulled into their parking lot to check it out. It looked like the lights were on! A few stragglers were milling about in front of the store. One of them eventually drifted inside. Success! We hopped out of the car, me, still in my slippers, and went inside. What the hell was going on here? They did indeed have power, but all of the cases around the perimeter of the store had been completely emptied. Presumably this was done to throw the perishables into storage in case they lost power. This, I could understand. But what about the pastries? What. About. The Pastries???? And where there was no pastry, there was no coffee. What was the the matter with these people? Walking around the nearly deserted store, I consoled myself by buying a can of Sterno. At least this way I felt like I had accomplished something.
We returned home, where I was forced to break the bad news to Sam that yes, while this was still the weekend, he would be unable to watch his cartoons. I told him that these things don’t usually last more than a day or so and that the power would hopefully be back on soon. He took the news better than I would have.
It was time to bring Rachael back to Stockbridge so she gathered up her belongings and off we went. Stockbridge is to the west of us, and usually they are hit much harder in these types of storms. Sure enough, downed branches lined the sides of the highway, but strangely enough, when we pulled off the highway, things seemed to be in better shape. There was at least twice the amount of snow on the ground, and trees were leaning. But except for one car that was off of the road, things looked in pretty good shape. Pulling up to her place, it was a relief to find that she still had all of the necessities: heat, power, coffee.
I headed back and took a detour to Jake’s school to drop off a couple of things. Going my usual route, there was utter devastation. The phrase “a war zone” would be heard repeatedly over the next several days. The main road that was usually bustling was now nearly impassable. Huge trees and limbs were blocking large portions of the road. The few areas that were passable were only clear due to the trees being caught in the straining power lines above. I took a different route on the way home figuring it had to be better. It wasn’t.
When I think of a power outage, I picture a huge knife switch somewhere, which has been inadvertently been thrown to the “Off” position, most likely by a dozing guard. It seems to me a relatively simple matter to find this guard, wake him up and have him throw it back on. But upon seeing all of the destruction, I had a different view. Instead of the one, centrally located switch that could so easily be turned back on, this was more like a miles long extension cord that was sliced in hundreds of places. Repair one slice, then move an inch or two and repair the next, and on and on and on until you reach my little dead end road at the very end of the cord. This was not going to be fixed over night.
I thought of my freezer and the approximately seven hundred pounds of various types of breakfast sausage inside. How was I going to be able to cook all of this on the grill? And the bacon...Oh My God, the bacon! The only possible saving grace was that it’s been so long since I defrosted the freezer, it was essentially like one big block of ice anyway. Best case: life goes on as usual. Worst case: I’m forced to defrost it and cook all that sausage. I shuddered at the thought. I thought of the pipes in the basement and the potential for freezing. The place could stand a good mopping down, but not like this. At least, not until the sump pump was running again. I thought of the flayed pork butt in the refrigerator and nearly panicked.
Life over the next couple of days didn’t get much better. At least Sam had school during the day, so he had the chance to stay warm. Sam’s a worrier but he’s not much of a complainer. The most I heard from him was, once, before bed, when he said, “Hey. I can see my breath!” This was meant more as an observation than anything else.
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| Guardian Angels |
In the evenings, Sam and I would go for a ride to stay warm. Dinner might consist of eating pizza in the car. I promoted this as a big adventure. Sam humored me. When we got home, it was back to being bundled up in three layers of clothes and wearing a hat. Bedtime came much earlier, not because we were bored but because we couldn’t stand being awake. All we could think about was how cold we were. At night, the temperature dipped to the mid-forties by bedtime. We would make our way up the dark stairs to Sam’s bedroom, still lit only by the flickering of the fake tea lights. I once again buried him under a mountain of heavy blankets and I once again told him that the power would be on soon. He didn’t ask me what “soon” meant, and I didn’t offer. As cold as it was at bedtime, I didn’t dare look at the temperature during the night. Judging from the toilet seat, it was a lot colder than the mid-forties.
On Tuesday, I woke up a little after three in the morning to check on Sam... and the temperature of the toilet seat. Both were doing as well as expected. I climbed back into bed, pulling the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and tried to force myself to go back to sleep. Opening my eyes after what seemed like a few minutes, I looked over at my clock and saw that it was just before five a.m. It took a second or two to register: I can see my clock. Without moving my head, I glanced past the clock and could see the light of the nightlight filling the hall. I listened and could hear the furnace running. Thank God! I couldn't believe it. I ran in to check on Sam. He turned, opening his eyes vaguely, and I told him we had power. “Yay!”, he said, smiling. And he rolled over, still smiling, and went back to sleep.
It was only four nights, which by most measures, is nothing. It could have been much worse. The pipes never burst, the freezer stayed cold, I never had to dig a hole and bury the pork butt. Still, it makes me appreciate the little things: a warm meal, a hot cup of coffee, the bathroom fan.
I wonder if years from now, will Sam will look back on this with nostalgia? Will he remember it to be warmer than it was? Will he remember his Dad hustling him from the shower into a warm car where they would drive around together while he dried off? Will he think back to eating pizza in the car together, or sharing conversations while shivering in the near dark, or remember how he was bundled up every night and tucked into bed beneath a mountain of blankets? And if he remembers, will he look back on any of it with fondness? Somehow, I doubt it.
I’m pretty sure I will though.
