The temperature hit 103 degrees the day the storm hit. Thunder and lightening, wind and rain… and the dreaded power outage. It was 9:00 p.m. and dark, so we had no idea what was going on outside our own home. Not much to do now but go to sleep. Hot, sweaty sleep it was.
The morning light woke us with its intensity, beckoning us to survey the damage. Downed trees, debris, and power lines littered the landscape of our little neighborhood. In fact, the only street leading into our corner of the world was now passable only by the width of a single car. It was going to be another scorcher and the powers that be said it could be days before they reached us.
Bad timing, that’s for sure, but I suppose there’s never really a good time for these things. We’d been thrown a lot of curves these past few months, and the troubling chain of events apparently wasn’t done with us yet.
Our “To Do” list for the weekend was a lot longer than usual, and we had planned to put every moment to good use. But the temperature was threatening to reach triple digits again, we had a yard full of debris, and no power. Our plans would have to be changed. Worse yet, we both make a living from home and, without access to the internet, we could not work.
Now I won’t say I was stressed, exactly, because I’ve certainly endured a lot worse than this. But I was feeling anxious…stubbornly tackling whatever chores I could in the stifling heat and humidity…anything to make me feel forward momentum. I didn’t want to be stuck!
It took well into the first 24-hour cycle of our little disaster to let it sink in, to accept that my plans had changed. I know all about the big changes that come with multiple sclerosis and cancer. Certainly I could not allow this minor inconvenience to make a fool of me.
So out came the board games and the playing cards. Out came the novel I’d been meaning to read for ages, and I read it all, in a single sitting, aware that I was savoring each word like a fine wine. It was hot, stifling hot, and humid, too. Even the cat was a bit off her game. Ah, a lazy afternoon nap seems in order.
Forty-eight hours. That’s how long it took for our power to come back on. Just in time for the beginning of the work week. It’s still difficult to drive around the tree-strewn neighborhood, the yard needs extra TLC, and the “To Do” list has grown even longer. So what?
We played, we read, we relaxed, we engaged in a bit of lazy daydreaming. We let it be. And it was good. Our weekend of standing still turned out to be forward momentum after all.
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