I think many of you have been battling some colder conditions and some difficult times. It warrants the need and desire to come in close and converse with a dear friend. I, for one, do not so much subscribe to the "keep distant" philosophy that has been circulating for nigh on twelve months. Can you believe it? Twelve months upcoming. I could not have expected it, and as you might guess, I can still remember what I was wearing that first and fateful Friday. (It is these details that has earned me a name in my family. How and why do you remember stuff like that? Dear ones, I cannot say.)
A life lived in distance is no life at all and that is all I will say on the matter.
If you are still near my fireside....
Let us embark on the tale of a thousand nights....
Perhaps, perhaps it was not quite so long as that but it seemed it, surely as I am sitting here with my reading glasses and a stick of Trident.
I am newly transplanted to central Texas, still settling, still learning what is my favorite local restaurant, still adjusting to the yielding yellow arrow. I have never lived in a southern climate and it has been a most unique experience. I did not have it fully in my heart to embrace a warm Christmas; although, it did have a perk of walking the beautiful neighborhoods full of amazing light displays. We don't all put that much heart into it in the cold areas of the world. Upon relocating, I could not have anticipated the winter experience that was ahead for me.
The power in our home went out in the early hours of Monday morning. I was already slated to be off for President's day and it was feeling like a bummer of a day off. I had worked all day Saturday painting my bedroom and Sunday was spent cleaning the house and preparing for company that did not arrive. Monday was the day of rest and I had visions of a couch, a blanket, sleep, and movies. It is amazing how little you rest when calamity strikes. There isn't anything you can do, so that couch, blanket, sleep thing could still have been on the agenda but it decidedly was not. We had little cell service that day and certainly it felt like we were an island. We cooked dinner by candlelight and hoped for better days ahead.
Tuesday dragged on and it was colder and colder. We decided we would drive to San Antonio to see if we could acquire a generator. It was a two hour trip; the warm car and cell service was delicious. The weather conditions were much better down there and we were hopeful. We spent a good deal of time calling and trying several stores, but alas, it was not fruitful. The Home Depot had a line, manned by store personnel, for the plumbing aisle. The women's restroom was completely unusable but not labeled out of service. I could only venture a guess that the locals without power might be coming to use the restroom at the store. They all overflowed. (I never saw so many men going into the men's restroom - I had to wait on the MEN to come out. Write it down.) My bladder suffered. We stopped at three other locations but no one was allowing anyone inside. And so I thought of other things and rode home to Round Rock in silence. I drank hot tea, took ZQuil, crawled under 4 layers of covers and, mercifully, slept.
By Wednesday, I had this thing figured out. Layers. Layers win the day. I read most of the day and played games with my kiddos in the evening. It was miserable yet pleasant by the company I kept for the teenagers have ventured to the side of their mama. We had mashed potatoes and pork roast so dinner was quite pleasant. I never knew how well I could mash potatoes with a whisk until I had to do so. ( I do not like lumpy mashed potatoes - they must be smooth.) It became humorous and memorable to see the kids and Ryan roaming around with headlamps, to see how much hot chocolate and hot tea four people could go through in three days, to see how eventually everyone accepts the fate that is dealt. I can still see my baby son cuddled up with me on the couch; I don't know when last his head was on my shoulder for more than three seconds. I can see my oldest son teaching me card games that he learned at boy scout camp. I can see my husband cooking, and eating, breakfast for dinner for possibly the only night of my entire life. These are some precious takeaways from some very stressful days. For, as I said, we are not made to rest when calamity strikes. We are constantly trying to find and reach ahead to the end solution.
Seeing the trees, the sidewalks, driveways, roadways... Ice upon ice upon ice. I have never seen such ice accretion in any of the states I have lived. It's been something to see and something I will always remember. I prayed Jesus to watch over my pansies and my Egret friend who looked so, so cold each standing in the near frozen pond. I anxiously await a glimpse of Edgar and the sight of my pansies when they are unwrapped. I believe God cares about even the little things.
Our power returned Thursday by God's good grace. The agenda for the day was fuel and food of which we only acquired fuel. I've never seen a store devoid of groceries. Aisle upon aisle upon aisle of empty shelves as though the Grinch stopped by and bent over to pick up that last bulb of yogurt and tucked it into his sack. What an unusual experience. The reports I gather indicate it might be this way for awhile so perhaps the days ahead will be a little more testing, because I simply did not stockpile for the end of the seventh age. I am a hobbit and it will be slightly difficult to lay off some of the options of elevensies, lunch, dinner, tea and supper.
It has been a hard, but precious week. Stress was evident, but what I know of hardships is that it bonds people. The best camping trips are the ones that are actually unpleasant. Twenty years later it is the "rained for 96 hours straight in '86" that will be dug out of memory and passed around rather than the "three uneventful days of sunshine and sailing in June of '92." The best and worst come at us; we sort it out and we soldier on with the people at our left and right.
I've lived a thousand nights in 5 days and the tale is not over just yet.
I leave you, for now, with these final words that will forever conjure memories of a record setting winter storm in central Texas, in the year 2021, when I was a mother of two teenaged sons and the wife of one good man.
"Forget vegetables. All we're going to need is beans, bacon, and whiskey."
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