Ike Strikes Suburbia
Sunday night I was laying on the bed upstairs, the Sunday Times spread out next to me, and switching the TV channels between various movies. The one I was watching at any given moment was determined by the incidences of commercials. First it was Philadelphia for a few minutes (Tom Hanks, always eminently watchable regardless of the subject matter), until some commercial for Toyota or Allegra came on, then I switched to The Wedding Singer (Adam Sandler--hardly an actor in the same league as Tom Hanks, but in this fluff 1980's send-up, just about perfect), until the ads for McCain or Obama or Microsoft, then I switched again, this time to The Wedding Crashers (Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn--a dumb premise with light-weight but highly paid and likeable actors--and rather raunchy at times but let's face it, the movie has some funny moments), until yet more commercials, when I either resumed the channel scanning or switched back to Philadelphia. Every so often I glanced at the Times but I was really too comfortable watching TV to exert myself intellectually.
Hubby and the boys were ensconced in the basement, watching the Steelers/Browns game, at that moment unfolding at Cleveland Browns Stadium. Hubby, having spent his tender youth in Cleveland, roots for the Browns, notwithstanding their pathetic record of late and the fact that we reside in Pittsburgh. The boys, naturally, are Steelers fans.
The wind was blowing. As a matter of fact, it was howling. Acorns were dropping like stones onto the wood deck below the bedroom window. The wind grew louder, and louder still. I had heard something about a wind advisory, but this was a little bit much. Then, all at once, the TV screen went dark, the house black. Sometimes the lights will flicker before the power crashes, but not on Sunday.
I lay on the bed in the pitch dark, the house dead quiet, but for the wind. I keep candles in the bathroom, and matches, somewhere in the top drawer, with the toothpaste, the cough drops, the Qtips, and a hundred other random bathroom items that have no other place to reside. I groped around the drawer, feeling for the little box of matches with the name of some restaurant or other printed in gold letters on the side, and as I fumbled around I thought briefly of Audrey Hepburn in Wait Until Dark.
A flashlight was required, and we had several, in the kitchen downstairs. I knew they worked because I had just checked the batteries a few days before, in a rare fit of kitchen organization. I held my arms out in front of me, sweeping them left, then right, as I made my way out of the bedroom, down the hall, around the corner, and down the stairs. I reached the kitchen and the flashlights, and also remembered the camping lantern, which was still on the counter from a few days ago when I put new batteries in that too. Bingo! The lantern cast a soft glow all around me as I carried it toward the basement stairs, and long shadows played on the walls as I moved forward. I felt a little like a character in Jane Austen, one who's awakened in the middle of the night by a courier on horseback, and I have only a lantern to light my way.
I paused at the top of the stairs. I knew Hubby and the boys were down there, but it was dark and quiet. Then: "Hot potato hot potato!" with jingly music. Then quiet. Then: "Thunder!" Guitar music, then "Thunder!" ACDC?
"What are you guys doing down here in the dark?" I called as I descended the steps. A burst of giggles, and then I saw Hubby and two of the boys under a blanket on the sofa, laughing, and another son laying on the futon next to them, cracking up as he pressed the buttons on his cellphone. They were entertaining themselves, and providing meager light, playing random ringtones. "God they're easily amused," I thought, smiling. "Are you quite comfortable?" I asked. More giggling ensued.
Five minutes later, all five of us were on the bed upstairs, each with a flashlight, along with the lantern to illuminate the space. A candle flickered in the bathroom, where I left it after finally locating the matches. Something about the situation called for Monopoly, which we spread out on the bed and took our turns as the wind grew ever louder. It really did sound like a locomotive, but, I thought, it couldn't be anything like a tornado. There was no rain at all, and the sky looked nothing like the few times I had seen it when a tornado was imminent.
"Isn't this just like Little House on the Prairie," I asked, as I rolled the dice and moved past "Go".
"Mom, I really don't think they had Monopoly back then," Phil replied. He’s 14, the age at which he has to correct everything I say. But I, of course, was referring to the simplicity of the moment, when the family would gather around the fire in the evening, talking or playing a game, no distractions other than the weather outside. No one was plugged in, people weren't scattered about the house engaging in their solitary pursuits. We were in this together.
When we got tired, everyone went off to bed. The wind howled ever louder for a while, and while laying there I stared out the window. A full moon was shining brightly, hanging like a huge spotlight over the yard, and the trees were gyrating wildly, until Mother Nature finally settled down around midnight.
I woke a few times during the night, my eyes trained on the clock near the bed. It remained dark, so I knew whatever had caused the power outage was probably significant, and we could not count on having electricity any time soon. I got out of bed at 5:45 a.m. and headed to the grocery store to get a supply of water, since our pump had no power either.
While I hesitate to use the word devastation, I was shocked as I drove through the streets to see the number of fallen trees and limbs littering my little town. The scene reminded me of something you'd see on the news, after a hurricane or tornado rampaged through some town nowhere near where we live.
As I drove, I also wondered what one would do if the only available vehicle was electric. There's much in the news lately about the new generation of electric-powered vehicles. I suppose if we had one instead of our mammoth planet-destroying SUV (I don't really believe my vehicle has anything to do with the state of the climate), we'd have enough juice to get to the grocery store to get water. But what if there was some larger crisis? What if we had to get away because of some imminent danger, a terrorist attack, a war? I think I'd feel a lot more comfortable with a gas-powered vehicle rather than an electric one.
I hate to think of a doom-and-gloom scenario, especially because we were having that nice Little House on the Prairie moment. But even though it's been seven years now, 9/11 is still out there. We have an election coming up, and who knows what nefarious plans are being made even now by those who think paradise awaits once they blow themselves and a few innocent bystanders into oblivion? But that's not what this post was supposed to be about.
In the end, after the storm, we personally faced nothing more than a school delay and a whole lot of yard clean-up, plus the inconvenience of disrupted power and lack of water for 18 hours. We lost no trees at all, even though our yard is quite wooded. Neighbors, however, lost several large trees, some pulled up by the roots, some snapped in half, some landing on people's roofs and cars. Even today some are still without power.
So for now, we are safe and secure in our home, and everything is back to normal. I'm on the laptop in the kitchen; Phil is on his computer in his bedroom, and Noah no doubt is logged on in his room. Josh is laying on the floor in another room, playing DS. Hubby is at the office, probably on the phone or answering email. We are all plugged in, and there is very little prospect of Monopoly.
Hubby and the boys were ensconced in the basement, watching the Steelers/Browns game, at that moment unfolding at Cleveland Browns Stadium. Hubby, having spent his tender youth in Cleveland, roots for the Browns, notwithstanding their pathetic record of late and the fact that we reside in Pittsburgh. The boys, naturally, are Steelers fans.
The wind was blowing. As a matter of fact, it was howling. Acorns were dropping like stones onto the wood deck below the bedroom window. The wind grew louder, and louder still. I had heard something about a wind advisory, but this was a little bit much. Then, all at once, the TV screen went dark, the house black. Sometimes the lights will flicker before the power crashes, but not on Sunday.
I lay on the bed in the pitch dark, the house dead quiet, but for the wind. I keep candles in the bathroom, and matches, somewhere in the top drawer, with the toothpaste, the cough drops, the Qtips, and a hundred other random bathroom items that have no other place to reside. I groped around the drawer, feeling for the little box of matches with the name of some restaurant or other printed in gold letters on the side, and as I fumbled around I thought briefly of Audrey Hepburn in Wait Until Dark.
A flashlight was required, and we had several, in the kitchen downstairs. I knew they worked because I had just checked the batteries a few days before, in a rare fit of kitchen organization. I held my arms out in front of me, sweeping them left, then right, as I made my way out of the bedroom, down the hall, around the corner, and down the stairs. I reached the kitchen and the flashlights, and also remembered the camping lantern, which was still on the counter from a few days ago when I put new batteries in that too. Bingo! The lantern cast a soft glow all around me as I carried it toward the basement stairs, and long shadows played on the walls as I moved forward. I felt a little like a character in Jane Austen, one who's awakened in the middle of the night by a courier on horseback, and I have only a lantern to light my way.
I paused at the top of the stairs. I knew Hubby and the boys were down there, but it was dark and quiet. Then: "Hot potato hot potato!" with jingly music. Then quiet. Then: "Thunder!" Guitar music, then "Thunder!" ACDC?
"What are you guys doing down here in the dark?" I called as I descended the steps. A burst of giggles, and then I saw Hubby and two of the boys under a blanket on the sofa, laughing, and another son laying on the futon next to them, cracking up as he pressed the buttons on his cellphone. They were entertaining themselves, and providing meager light, playing random ringtones. "God they're easily amused," I thought, smiling. "Are you quite comfortable?" I asked. More giggling ensued.
Five minutes later, all five of us were on the bed upstairs, each with a flashlight, along with the lantern to illuminate the space. A candle flickered in the bathroom, where I left it after finally locating the matches. Something about the situation called for Monopoly, which we spread out on the bed and took our turns as the wind grew ever louder. It really did sound like a locomotive, but, I thought, it couldn't be anything like a tornado. There was no rain at all, and the sky looked nothing like the few times I had seen it when a tornado was imminent.
"Isn't this just like Little House on the Prairie," I asked, as I rolled the dice and moved past "Go".
"Mom, I really don't think they had Monopoly back then," Phil replied. He’s 14, the age at which he has to correct everything I say. But I, of course, was referring to the simplicity of the moment, when the family would gather around the fire in the evening, talking or playing a game, no distractions other than the weather outside. No one was plugged in, people weren't scattered about the house engaging in their solitary pursuits. We were in this together.
When we got tired, everyone went off to bed. The wind howled ever louder for a while, and while laying there I stared out the window. A full moon was shining brightly, hanging like a huge spotlight over the yard, and the trees were gyrating wildly, until Mother Nature finally settled down around midnight.
I woke a few times during the night, my eyes trained on the clock near the bed. It remained dark, so I knew whatever had caused the power outage was probably significant, and we could not count on having electricity any time soon. I got out of bed at 5:45 a.m. and headed to the grocery store to get a supply of water, since our pump had no power either.
While I hesitate to use the word devastation, I was shocked as I drove through the streets to see the number of fallen trees and limbs littering my little town. The scene reminded me of something you'd see on the news, after a hurricane or tornado rampaged through some town nowhere near where we live.
As I drove, I also wondered what one would do if the only available vehicle was electric. There's much in the news lately about the new generation of electric-powered vehicles. I suppose if we had one instead of our mammoth planet-destroying SUV (I don't really believe my vehicle has anything to do with the state of the climate), we'd have enough juice to get to the grocery store to get water. But what if there was some larger crisis? What if we had to get away because of some imminent danger, a terrorist attack, a war? I think I'd feel a lot more comfortable with a gas-powered vehicle rather than an electric one.
I hate to think of a doom-and-gloom scenario, especially because we were having that nice Little House on the Prairie moment. But even though it's been seven years now, 9/11 is still out there. We have an election coming up, and who knows what nefarious plans are being made even now by those who think paradise awaits once they blow themselves and a few innocent bystanders into oblivion? But that's not what this post was supposed to be about.
In the end, after the storm, we personally faced nothing more than a school delay and a whole lot of yard clean-up, plus the inconvenience of disrupted power and lack of water for 18 hours. We lost no trees at all, even though our yard is quite wooded. Neighbors, however, lost several large trees, some pulled up by the roots, some snapped in half, some landing on people's roofs and cars. Even today some are still without power.
So for now, we are safe and secure in our home, and everything is back to normal. I'm on the laptop in the kitchen; Phil is on his computer in his bedroom, and Noah no doubt is logged on in his room. Josh is laying on the floor in another room, playing DS. Hubby is at the office, probably on the phone or answering email. We are all plugged in, and there is very little prospect of Monopoly.
posted by calabresewoman | 1:12 PM
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