Giving Thanks for Another Great Performance

It's so quiet around here. I feel as if I'm sitting in a theater long after the play has ended and the audience and all the actors have long since gone home. It was a great performance so I have no reason to complain. But I find myself fighting off the inevitable depression that comes from having something so good end so soon. Still, if this this is the price to be paid, I wouldn’t change a thing.

What a great weekend. Things really couldn’t have gone better. I think I spent the majority of my week in the kitchen. It started with baking cookies before anyone else had even arrived home, and it continued on with sweet potatoes and pies and pancakes and eventually the Thanksgiving dinner. And I loved it. As I was cooking on one of those nights, I stood for a moment and listened to the kids in the other room. Jake was playing cards with Sam and Rachael was entertaining Helaina. I used to experience this type of moment every weekend when they were younger. It’s a quiet happiness and a profound feeling of warmth that only comes when everyone is together, safe, happy, and enjoying each other’s company. When they were younger, I would try to soak it in as much as I could. I knew it was special back then, just as it is now.

We managed to pack a lot in. Not only did we have our traditional dinner with the entire family at home, we also managed to pick out and decorate our Christmas tree. The only blip being that the fuse on a string of Christmas lights kept blowing out, which in turn, almost caused my fuse to blow. Minor glitch though.

But that's behind me for now. Helaina's gone back to her boyfriend. I brought Rachael back on Saturday, and I just finished bring Jake back today. I come home to two people, each wearing headphones, each in their own worlds. All that's left is to head upstairs, close the heat vent in the girl's room, and close their bedroom door... and wait for the curtain to open again for the next performance.

Failure of Market Research

Make Your Own Caption

This is from grocery shopping last night. How long has this sign been here? How could I have missed this before? Is this something local?

I notice that "Dads" aren't mentioned on the sign. I wonder why? Seems to me that this is exactly the consumer who would be targeted with this kind of name.

Did they do testing on this name? Was this the least offensive?

Does someone ask their spouse to pick up some Bimbo on their way home?

And what's with that mutated Doughboy mascot?

Pretty strange...

Random Notes From Today

I left my car at the mechanic this morning and I’m hoping they don’t have to go into the glove compartment. I just remembered that I left a postcard in there from a David Sedaris concert that reads: “Abortions $3.00”.

Went for a walk at lunchtime. Somehow ended up at MacDonald’s, where I ended up buying a McRib to go. Part of me thinks I should feel guilty about this. The other part of me thinks the first part of me should mind it’s own business.

While I was waiting for the "chef" to prepare my food, I noticed the sign on the counter that said “Open Thanksgiving Day!”. Not sure what to make of this. Do people get excited about this? Does this change anyone’s plans?

On the way back, I pass the gas station where I filled up this morning and see that gas has since dropped by ten cents a gallon. Once again, my timing is impeccable. While this amounts to less than two dollars, I feel bitter and resentful, and I expect to be feeling that way for quite some time... at least if I play it right.

Talked to someone named “Lois” in Customer Service today. Either “Lois” has been at her dead-end job way too long, or “Lois” is going through a bitter divorce.

Its getting close to bedtime and I’m still tasting that McRib. I knew I made the right choice.

The Comfort of Home- Part Two

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.

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.

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.

The Comfort of Home- Part One

Hard to believe that three weeks ago, almost to the day, we were apple picking in summer-like weather. It felt a little strange and out of place at the time, not quite the typical fall activity of years past. Don’t get me wrong, it was a lot of fun. But, the weather made it feel slightly out of sync. I missed the briskness and the smell of fallen leaves in the air. Instead of of wishing I had worn a heavier jacket, I was pealing off my sweater. I consoled myself with the fact that, if nothing else, this probably meant a mild winter. Maybe I'll even have a little heating oil left at the end of the winter.

But here it was, three weeks later and there was a whole different scenario approaching. Helaina had come home on her usual Friday afternoon and I was picking up Rachael on Friday evening. Snow was predicted for Saturday and it was predicted to be heavy. I usually feel like it's a race against time when this happens. But this felt different. October wasn’t even over yet. I hadn’t even taken Sam Trick-or-Treating yet. How bad could it be? No way this could happen.

When I woke up on Saturday morning, there was no sign of snow. There was nothing. More than nothing (or should that be less?), it was sunny and pretty nice out, at least to start. Both girls took off for work and I got busy planning to do as little as possible. As the morning went on, it started getting a little raw. But it was Fall. What did I expect? I figured it would be a good time to do a little baking. And so, off I went to the grocery store.

Apparently three quarters of the town didn't share my view that there was a non-event heading our way. If I had been thinking straight, I would have avoided the grocery store like the plague, but it was too late now. I grabbed a cart and as I strolled leisurely through the store, I checked out the weekly sales. Do the bananas look ripe enough for banana bread? What’s this, pork butt? And it’s on sale besides! I’ve been wanting to make pulled pork in the crock-pot. Now was the perfect time.

As I strolled through the store, making my way to the buttermilk, it seemed to me like I was in one of those commercials where the camera focuses on a slowly moving pedestrian, while the cars and everyone else are a blur of motion. Shoppers were frantic. People were even more rude and annoying than usual. Over the intercom, the Manager was continually begging “people from all departments" to get to the front of the store. Of course none of the employees responded, and this only served to further the atmosphere of panic being felt by the rapidly forming mob at the registers.

Eventually, I joined the others at the front of the store. Each of us had our own essentials, they with their bread and batteries, I with my buttermilk and pork butt. With a little maneuvering, I managed to segue into the hint of a line funneling into one of the check-outs. A line, like all the others, that moved at a snail’s pace. It was like standing in a hot, overstuffed elevator but instead of muzak, there was only the bleating of the Manager’s increasingly desperate voice calling out for help up front, help that would never come. Impatient customers kept tentatively changing lanes. When one lane gave the illusion of moving faster than another, carriages would veer in that direction, some would pull back, unwilling to gamble that they might end up even worse off than they already were.

Standing there, and trying to avoid looking at any of the scandal sheets hanging in the racks, I made the mistake of catching the eye of the person behind me. Worse yet, I made the mistake of smiling at them. It wasn’t meant to mean anything, just one of those “we’re all in this together” kind of glances. This was met with the kind of glare that suggested that I was the crazy one. It seemed obvious by her look that I didn't realize the gravity of the situation. Her squint of disdain made me wish I had used it first. I’m pretty good if I’m the first to strike, but I have a hard time recovering when I’m hit off guard. I made sure not to make eye contact with her or anyone else. These people were crazy. I got the heck out of there and headed home.

Once home, I got to work making the bread and deboning the pork, a gruesome job that I’ve never done before. I stuck the bread in the oven and stuffed the flayed butt into the refrigerator and went out to rake leaves, just in case it did snow. Why I would rake leaves to beat the snow, I have no idea but it seemed to make perfect sense at the time. The sky was slowly turning into a hazy grey. Still no snow.

Helaina got home from work in the early afternoon and by then it was considerably more threatening. I encouraged her to head back right away rather than risk getting stuck. No sooner had she left than Rachael called. Rachael was just leaving work as well, which was about about forty miles away. She said there was already two inches of snow on the ground and sounded disgusted. As I hung up the phone, snow was began falling at home too. Ten minutes later, Helaina calls and says it’s really piling up where she’s driving.

By the time Rachael pulled in, it was coming down at a pretty good pace. Rachael came in and It was one of the few times I’ve seen her rattled. She spent almost twice the time getting home compared to what it usually took her. Her experience sounded like the highway equivalent of my grocery store adventure, but slipperier and less visibility. I waited for Helaina’s call letting me know she had made it safely, which, thankfully, wasn’t too long after. It was a huge relief to me.

There's something comforting about being inside, watching inclement weather from the safety of the nice warm home. I’ve always loved watching thunderstorms in the summer or snow is coming down in the winter, as long as everyone is safe. Now, with Rachael safe at home and Helaina safe at her boyfriends, it was time to relax.