Well, after all sorts of dire predictions (last year's storm knocked out power to our building for 8 days! Halloween was canceled! Thousands didn't even have running water!), I made it through the latest storm without any problems. Gusts of wind whistled past, trees shook, the lights flickered--but that was as bad as it got.
Is it wrong to be a little disappointed? I was all stocked up with dry goods, flashlights, batteries, a radio. And after a morning madly writing, I spent Monday afternoon preparing for the power loss--I positioned flashlights around the house, got caught up on email, called my parents, even cleaned the bathroom (obviously not totally necessary, but it needed a clean, and I figured I'd rather do it with lights and running water). Then, by late Tuesday afternoon, when we still had power, I used the opportunity to watch several back episodes of Once Upon A Time. Then, still with power, I figured I might as well make an early dinner. Then there was Monday Night Football, and finally I went to bed. I woke up a few times during the night, but the clock digits were still glowing red.
Of course I'm completely grateful, and my thoughts and prayers go out to all of those who were much more adversely affected, those who lost loved ones, are injured, struggling with storm damage, and/or without power.
But when I woke Tuesday morning, still with electricity, I couldn't help feeling a little ripped off. I had had visions of reading and writing by candlelight, cuddling up with my husband, being forced to have conversations instead of watching TV. Not to mention, I've been thoroughly glued to Michelle Cooper's final book in her Montmaray Journals trilogy, The FitzOsbornes at War.*
I guess sometimes a little excitement (or free time!) is a good thing. And it got me thinking of past storms weathered, with more excitement and better stories.
When I was growing up, my family lived at the edge of a forest. I don't remember the storm, but I clearly remember the next morning, when I was out with the dog first thing, and saw a giant, old tree had fallen across our driveway. I was thrilled with the novelty and envisioning a day off school. I ran back inside to get my mom, telling her to look out the window.
"I can't see anything, my contacts aren't in yet," my mom grumbled.
"Oh, you'll see this," I told her. And she did.
Unfortunately, my mom wasn't having any of it. She told me and my sister to get ready for school. Then she drove across the front lawn, around the bulk of the tree, down into the ditch surrounding our property, and up over the scraggly branches at the tree's top to get onto the road. Such a disappointment!
My other favorite storm story is one I wasn't alive for, but which took place in the same house. It was right after Christmas, and the area had a severe ice storm. My parents lost power, and couldn't easily get out. And the only food in the house was a Christmas chocolate box. I love thinking of my parents being so young and unprepared--and gorging themselves on candy.
I hope all of you made it through the storm safely. Any good stories? Or, alternately, what storm stories have been passed through your family over the years?
*I should admit that I gave in to my disappointed self, and spent a blissful Tuesday afternoon finishing my book! And loved it! Highly recommended!