How can so much beauty bring so much devastation?
It was 3:22 on Saturday morning, Jan. 24, when our power went out. I know, because I had crawled out of bed to visit “the facility,” when all of a sudden I found myself in the dark.
We knew the ice storm was coming and had tried to prepare for it. We experienced it before in 1994, when Clay and I, with our two small children and his parents, huddled in our den on mattresses in front of our only heat source — the beloved wood fireplace.
This time, there would be five adults, four small children and two dogs camping out in front of the fireplace.
Our daughter Kelsey, her husband Ryan and their children stayed with us the first several nights while they waited on propane to be delivered to their home.
The children have been as happy as larks not having to attend school and nearly eating every snack in sight.
During mornings, Clay and I ventured out while everything was still frozen and crunchy to take photos. The sun shining through all that ice was absolutely breathtaking. However, the many trees that were broken — some landing on homes and others on vehicles — was heartbreaking.
At night, Ryan, Brandon and Kelsey kept the fire going to keep the front part of our home warm and comfortable. Clay and I slept in our own bed, even though it was cold in that part of the house.
We piled extra quilts on the bed and wore extra layers over pajamas. It hasn’t been too bad really. On those two bone-chilling nights when the temperature dropped to 14, we piled on even more quilts — seven layers altogether — making it difficult for this tosser-turner to roll around, but actually keeping us toasty while holding in our body heat. As of this writing Tuesday, still no power.
I think we have been coping pretty well, considering.
The thing I miss most is my water flosser. The ice cold water from the faucet and my teeth just don’t get along.
I miss our CPAP machines. Well, maybe I miss Clay’s more than I do mine. Without his being turned on, I find it hard to sleep to the strains of logs sawed next to me.
This, too, shall pass — maybe like a kidney stone, but it will pass
