What I Saw in the Light of the Ice

I just survived 30 hours of no heat or electricity. That also means I cannot cook--no tea! Last night the temperatures got down around 5F. I had spent part of the evening in a dim room lit by an array of scented candles--not any of them the same scent, quite the potpourri and not always a harmony of scents. I sat near the window and watched cars go by, the white of their headlights illuminating the ice as if from within. I talked on the phone to my mother. Around 6:30, I took the dogs and myself to bed. The dogs had been wild all night, not understanding a thing. Cold! No lights! Why? Little Bear and Bumby roughhoused and made puppy noises on the floor behind me, despite their elderly years. Bumby chewed my mitten like a puppy as I talked on the phone. Yes, I wore mittens. Heavy sheepskin mittens. I also wore a hat, two pairs of soft, warm pants, a sports bra, an undershirt, a turtleneck, a flannel shirt, a cotton sweater, a thermal shirt, a sweatshirt, a heavy wool sweater, and my bathrobe. Heavy sheepskin slipper boots. I had covered the fish tanks in blankets, 3 blankets each. I put towels over the African violets and the Rex begonia. I set the kitchen faucet to dripping so that the pipes would not freeze. I brought 2 candles into my room to read by. I wore my hat and mittens to bed. But just before that, I got a phone call from the power company. An automated message told me the outage was quite severe and I should call my local authorities so as to be able to locate a shelter. Somehow that message did nothing to reassure me that the power might be back on soon.

It was warmer in my small room this morning than in the rest of the house. One human, 2 dogs, and a cat shut in together generate a fair amount of heat in an enclosed room, especially with blankets hung over the windows. When I came out into the hall, the cold felt like a slight slap. My breath steamed out ahead of me. I persevered. The back door knob was frozen shut and I could not open the back door to let out the dogs. I exhaled on the doorknob until my warm breath finally thawed it enough to open it, but it was still stiff and persnickety, so I turned it to the open position and left it like that, using only the dead bolt lock to secure the door shut.

For my morning prayers and devotions these past 2 powerless mornings, I have drank a cup of water when I would usually drink tea as I prayed prayers of gratitude, and have my own small version of Communion--the time when I remember God loves me and feeds me and always takes care of me. This morning's devotion began with a reading of Psalm 23. How apt. You are there, God! You pop up in unexpected places just when I am about to fall into the blandest pit of despair. And the reading was about exactly that--falling into a pit, or, in this case, a well. An African writer told a tale of a donkey falling into an abandoned well, and instead of being rescued, the people decide to fill the well in, with the donkey trapped inside! The donkey brays and shakes off the successive shovels full of sand that land on her back. As she shakes off the sand, the well gradually fills up beneath her, and finally she is able to step out to safety. The writer writes, " When trials befall us, God listens when we cry out and helps us to persevere."

I clung to that thought, 'God helps us to persevere', for the rest of the morning. My spirits were descending with the cold. I hadn't had much to eat. Mostly I huddled under blankets with a book and dozed. It takes a lot of energy to keep warm, and the dogs still expected at least one of their daily walks. They were wild children last night not only because of the cold and the dark, but also because I had not taken them outside for our evening walk. It was cold outside, and cold inside! Why would I want to step out into the cold and dark when my house holds the same, if only to a lesser degree? Part of being able to venture forth out into the coldest dark night is the knowledge a brightly lit warm house awaits you on your return! Without that, why bother stepping out at all?

But this morning we walked. The world was a'gleam and a'glimmer with new day sun shining heavenly golden blue, and iced trees shimmered like a crystal forest from a magical world. I had never seen such light. Despite the intense cold, I stopped and took in this scene of wonder and beauty with my eyes, my heart, my mind, my soul. This kind of beauty is a rare thing, a gift only an iced over frozen world can bestow. It heartened me in a way the cold of my house did not. I began to remember all that I could be grateful for despite this time of solitary deprivation : I had enough food to feed the animals, including the birds outside. I had enough blankets to secure the fish tanks and myself, and hand towels to cover the tender plants. I had some hot water in the tank. I had crackers to eat along with cheese or peanut butter or sardines. My phone worked. The water worked. I had several good books from the library to read. I had plenty of candles, seconds brought home from work. I had my dogs and cats to cheer me and to warm me. (I also discovered an interesting thing: cats growling at one another sound like the furnace turning on.)

When I came back inside, I decided to use that precious hot water to take a bath, to immerse my stiffened and chilled body into hot water and stay there as it gradually cooled. Filling the tub used it all up. And when I came out, warm, but feeling the full weight of my exhaustion and ready to simply go back to bed to wait this time of trial out, the power came back on. Yes! I yelled for joy! I yelled, Thanks! I did a little happy dance. And then I made myself the first of several pots of tea.

Until next time, I remain, your friend, Rozenkraai

Image: "Ice Storm '98 Vermont" by Gary Stanley