Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Wallowing isn't all bad...

I'm in my bedroom with the heat on and the door closed. I'm listening to Natalie Merchant's Tigerlilly, an album I played over and over during a sad time, early 2002. I am still luxuriating in having heat after 36 hours of none. When our power goes out, we can't heat the house, shower, or cook. That made for an uncomfortable 36 hours, but many people around Puget Sound still don't have power 5 days after the big storm, so I feel lucky. The houses across the street still don't have power. I have survivor's guilt.

I slept restlessly Thursday night, listening to the wind try to tear its way into our house. Around 1 or 2 am, when we lost power, I looked out the livingroom window and saw the evergreen tree across the street undulating impossibly. I also saw shapes in the yard that looked as if they had once, very recently, been part of our roof. Holy crap. In the morning, Tamar came down the stairs saying, "Someone's roof is in our yard, and I'm hoping it's the neighbor's." "Umm...sorry." Alicia, though, slept through the entire storm; she was really tired.

I came home on Saturday afternoon after running errands (and charging my cell phone while I ate tom kah in a restaurant). Tamar was sitting on the front porch, bundled up and looking glum. I began talking to her and stopped, gasped, and pointed. "I can't look," she said. Then, "is it still on?" It--the porch light, was. I ran into the house to put my ear by the heater. What a lovely sound! Ran back outside to hoot n holler and hug Tamar, who was still afraid to believe. Once she accepted the good news, she saw it like this: I came home and power was restored. I was the reincarnation of Nikola Tesla.

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