By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3
I’m human, and sometimes I’m wrong. One of the hazards of writing for newspapers is that sometimes you get to be wrong in print for lots of other people to see. Last week was one of those times.
If you didn’t see last week’s column (it’s posted above this one), I’ll recap it briefly. It was a light-hearted piece about how nice it was to be having a snow day with my husband and three kids. There was an icy mist falling outside, and we were snug and cozy inside with plenty of food and no real need to drive anywhere. I was tap, tap, tapping at my computer keyboard, putting the finishing touches on that happy little snow day column, when our lights began to flicker. Then they stabilized and everything was fine. I quickly hit the “send” button on the e-mail to my editors with the column attached. I’d met the deadline and was ready to sit back and enjoy the snow day.
About an hour later, the lights flickered again and went dark. The fine, icy mist outside had ramped up into a hard, freezing rain. Ice on the branches got thicker and thicker, and the trees around our home began to bend under the weight. We began to hear limbs crack and surrender to the storm. Four big branches broke loose from the backyard trees and fell across our fence.
Inside, I was still sure the power would come back in a few hours and we’d be back on track for a happy snow day in no time. But it didn’t come back, and the heat inside our house faded along with our hopes for a quick fix. When it got dark outside, it also got cold. Holding flashlights, we made grilled cheese sandwiches for the kids on our gas stove and felt thankful that we also have a gas fireplace that could keep us from getting too cold through the night. We put out sleeping bags for the kids and extra blankets and had a family camp-out in the living room.
The night was tough, the kids were restless, and I kept waking up with cold hands and a cold nose. By the next morning, the fun had totally worn off our snow day, and I was wishing I could reel that light-hearted column back out of cyberspace and revise it. What I’d hoped would be a nice snowfall and a brief break from our everyday routines had been hijacked by a mean ice storm, intent on throwing its weight around.
On Day Two of the blackout, we heard reports that power outages could last as long as five days or more. That news bulletin was all it took for me. “Book a hotel room, honey,” I called out to Tom from our chilly living room. “There are only so many times we can play Go Fish by flashlight in a freezing cold house. Let’s get out of here.” So we packed up our minivan with some clothes, diapers and food and drove about 10 miles to a hotel where we snagged one of the last remaining rooms.
I’m not particularly proud of how wimpy I was in the face of the ice storm. If I was a stronger woman, perhaps I would have stuck it out and braved Old Man Winter like Laura Ingalls did in those Little House on the Prairie books I loved as a child. But I’m no Laura Ingalls. What the ice storm confirmed for me is that I’m a girl who likes the sound of a heater kicking on. A girl who knows that sometimes a half-hour of cartoons can restore family harmony. A girl who needs to feel the warm breeze from her hairdryer in the morning. The storm taught me how grateful I am to not be living like Laura Ingalls did. Life’s little luxuries are quite fine, particularly when they work.
On Day Three of the ice storm, we called one of our neighbors who said the lights had just returned. We hurriedly packed our things, rushed back home and clapped our hands with delight when we pushed the button and the electric garage door opener worked! That magical power source that makes a home so much more homey had flooded back into the house, and suddenly we were grateful – for the comforts of home, for the workers who made it possible for us to get back there, and for every time we rounded the corner and flipped a switch that worked. I’m all done with snow days now. Bring on the spring.
Want to read previous installments of The Rockwood Files? Click HERE!
Gwen,
Ran across your column in a paper last summer. It’s good to see your still writing your column. They are as entertaining as ever.
Trey