Waiting for the Storm
If you happen to be watching The Weather Channel right now (it's about 7:15 a.m. EDT) you can see a huge swatch of magenta squatting over the upper Midwest. That's the weather system outside my house right now. It's been raining steadily for about an hour and a half; it's cold enough for freezing rain. It's too dark to tell what's happening; Ohio may be a "swing state" when it comes to politics, but when it comes to The Weather Channel we're just a wide spot between interstates and New York and Chicago.
I've got stockpots full of water on the stove and the bathtub is full. I've got bread and milk and cheese in a cooler in the garage, and peanut butter and crackers inside (oh, and chocolate too, but that's always on hand). I've taken a shower. I've pulled out all of the batteries and flashlights and have them sitting out next to candles and matches. I've got blankets and radios close at hand. I dusted off the old phone so that I'll stay connected if the power goes out. (Most people don't know in advance that digital phones don't work then; and it's one reason why we've kept our land line).
There's plenty of cat food and litter, but Jezebel will have to rely on her hunting skills for the moment until I know for sure what's going on out there. My mom lived alone in the country for 16 years after my dad died; one of the reasons she moved to town was because she was afraid to go outside when the weather was bad, for fear she would fall in the driveway and nobody would find her until it was too late. I don't think I'm that nervous - yet - but still don't want to test the limits.
Metaphor for life in general? Waiting for the storm, hoping that we're as prepared as we can be, and hoping that we don't find out we're not ready for it ... who knows, it's too early in the morning to be "deep".
All I lack is Saint H, who stayed in Columbus last night to avoid getting caught out in this stuff. I hope he can get home tonight. In the meantime I'll curl up with cats and knitting and books, and see how long this lasts.
I've got stockpots full of water on the stove and the bathtub is full. I've got bread and milk and cheese in a cooler in the garage, and peanut butter and crackers inside (oh, and chocolate too, but that's always on hand). I've taken a shower. I've pulled out all of the batteries and flashlights and have them sitting out next to candles and matches. I've got blankets and radios close at hand. I dusted off the old phone so that I'll stay connected if the power goes out. (Most people don't know in advance that digital phones don't work then; and it's one reason why we've kept our land line).
There's plenty of cat food and litter, but Jezebel will have to rely on her hunting skills for the moment until I know for sure what's going on out there. My mom lived alone in the country for 16 years after my dad died; one of the reasons she moved to town was because she was afraid to go outside when the weather was bad, for fear she would fall in the driveway and nobody would find her until it was too late. I don't think I'm that nervous - yet - but still don't want to test the limits.
Metaphor for life in general? Waiting for the storm, hoping that we're as prepared as we can be, and hoping that we don't find out we're not ready for it ... who knows, it's too early in the morning to be "deep".
All I lack is Saint H, who stayed in Columbus last night to avoid getting caught out in this stuff. I hope he can get home tonight. In the meantime I'll curl up with cats and knitting and books, and see how long this lasts.
Labels: life in general, nature
posted by rcclive at
7:17 AM
1 Comments:
You really ARE prepared. A warning to me considering moving. My father decided he could weather a Ohio winter and in the first snow storm fell walking the 100' to his mailbox and broke his shoulder. Good thing I was only a mile away.
By
Swanknitter, at 9:23 PM
Post a Comment
<< Home