storms at home
There were thunderstorms here this morning, because it's late summer in the upper midwest and that means thunderstorms. I'd planned to sleep in after a tiring week. I woke up to a blinking clock and a room so dark it hardly looked like morning; one power failure down, n-1 to go. Outside the window: layers and layers of dark clouds moving in across the prairie, fast but erratically. Flickers of lightning, distant thunder getting less distant. Smell of ozone, and the light getting green.
I like storms, but I'm a native midwesterner, and I grew up at the south end of tornado alley; even half-asleep, I know that clouds and light like that can mean a serious power outage or a stint in the basement. I put on jeans and socks and shoes and my watch; shut most of the windows most of the way; found the radio (still in a box), cat carrier, flashlights, candles and matches; filled water bottles; put crackers, dried fruit, tissues, antihisthamines, painkillers, a book, and the extra flashlight in a bag, which I hung over the knob of the basement door; and settled down at the kitchen table, still barely awake, with breakfast, the radio, and a good view out the window.
The leading edge of the storm came in with a few quiet spatters of rain, and then the rest of it arrived with a rush: water and wind and crashes of thunder that had the cats, who are only intermittently blasé about storms, leaning against my ankles. The power flickered, dimmed, struggled back up, and died altogether; but none of the radio stations were broadcasting anything dire, and the light was actually getting less green, not more. Power came back on briefly, went out again, and then back on, and then out again after a few minutes; and so on for most of an hour, while I did dishes and unpacked boxes and yawned, until it came back on and stayed on, and the trailing edge of the storm straggled off to the east.
No big deal, as it turns out; just a September thunderstorm. I went upstairs and frowned at the blinking clock. It's an old digital clock, touchy to reset and ugly to boot, and I thought about replacing it, as I do every time I have to reset it. "Damn power outage," I thought, still half-asleep, and then all of a sudden I was awake and remembering New Orleans, neither of which I'd really been all morning.
Like everyone else, I've been feeling anger and frustration and shame all week. But this morning I just sat on my bed, in the wake of my lame-ass power outage and unnecessary water bottles, and cried.
Give what you can.
I like storms, but I'm a native midwesterner, and I grew up at the south end of tornado alley; even half-asleep, I know that clouds and light like that can mean a serious power outage or a stint in the basement. I put on jeans and socks and shoes and my watch; shut most of the windows most of the way; found the radio (still in a box), cat carrier, flashlights, candles and matches; filled water bottles; put crackers, dried fruit, tissues, antihisthamines, painkillers, a book, and the extra flashlight in a bag, which I hung over the knob of the basement door; and settled down at the kitchen table, still barely awake, with breakfast, the radio, and a good view out the window.
The leading edge of the storm came in with a few quiet spatters of rain, and then the rest of it arrived with a rush: water and wind and crashes of thunder that had the cats, who are only intermittently blasé about storms, leaning against my ankles. The power flickered, dimmed, struggled back up, and died altogether; but none of the radio stations were broadcasting anything dire, and the light was actually getting less green, not more. Power came back on briefly, went out again, and then back on, and then out again after a few minutes; and so on for most of an hour, while I did dishes and unpacked boxes and yawned, until it came back on and stayed on, and the trailing edge of the storm straggled off to the east.
No big deal, as it turns out; just a September thunderstorm. I went upstairs and frowned at the blinking clock. It's an old digital clock, touchy to reset and ugly to boot, and I thought about replacing it, as I do every time I have to reset it. "Damn power outage," I thought, still half-asleep, and then all of a sudden I was awake and remembering New Orleans, neither of which I'd really been all morning.
Like everyone else, I've been feeling anger and frustration and shame all week. But this morning I just sat on my bed, in the wake of my lame-ass power outage and unnecessary water bottles, and cried.
Give what you can.