Freeze Dried Memories

I remember the toppled giant steel pylons, a skyline void of light at night, thousands of military personnel on patrol, and hundreds of utility workers knitting a million power lines back together.

I remember opting to stay at a friend's dwelling and having a blast with over a dozen members of his family in what seemed to be the only duplex in the region to mysteriously have some source of electricity flowing between it's walls.

For some reason, I remember helping lift up a french speaking ex-biker gang member who slipped and fell onto an icy sidewalk on the street we lived on. I subsequently had a very nervous first-time conversation with him that ended with him proclaiming, "You're cool for an English guy!"

For some reason, I was the only person on the block the following summer who could get him to turn the volume down on his stereo after he had a few beers too many and wanted the world to hear his fondness for George Jones and Johnny Paycheck songs.

Ten years later, and 250 miles away I was at home in Peterborough when the lights went out and I heard a series of snaps and thuds of tree limbs surrendering to another surreal storm that wrapped New England with a heavy load of icy rain. With each crack that echoed outside that night a voice in my head said, "This can't be good."

118 hours later, I had memories of bundling up and stepping out my front door to cook meals on the barbecue that included spaghetti dinners, hot pastrami sandwiches, pizza, fajitas, chicken soup, waffles and bacon (a tricky endeavor).

I had memories of entertaining the missus by singing Beatles songs, suggesting a game of strip poker in the middle of playing gin rummy, and habitually attempting to flick on a light switch that obviously would not work whenever I entered the bathroom.

I had memories of being envious of neighbors who had smoke billowing from their chimneys while our fireplace consisted of a fire extinguisher set next to a coffee table that generated a few degrees of heat from a variety of scented candles and tea lights.

I remember how bizarre it felt to have to go to work in Manchester to install cabinetry in a medical office. I uncharacteristically had to wear a baseball cap in public for three days because I was in the middle of shearing my hair when the power went out. That is not what felt odd. What was weird was sweating for eight hours in a well lit, overheated environment while my wife sat at home wrapped in blankets, praying for the furnace to come on while cuddling our cat and wearing a woollen hat to keep warm.

I remember the missus spending a few hours one evening biting the inside of her bottom lip and staring at a home across the highway from ours as if insulted by the illuminated street lamp and the glowing Christmas tree that sat in the front of our neighbor's property.

I remember listening to our wind chimes compete with distant generators when the missus told me she was worried about her Christmas spirit because she wished she had a rifle so she could shoot out every colored bulb, one at a time, that was wrapped around our neighbor's festive tree.

These are just some personal memories. I am certain that other folks have funnier anecdotes or suffered varying degrees of hardships that were worse than what I endured after these storms.

Somehow, last December's humbling event provided a few lessons that helped me deal with some situations which transpired during the week following it's icy hiccup.

I could not help but feel the need to laugh when the heating coil in my oven blew up, my can opener broke, my vacuum overheated, the hard drive in my computer fried, my DVD player decided to die, my coffee maker got moody, and a disturbing rattle started coming from the right side of my car.

Ever since, I have noticed that I have been a little more grateful for what we take for granted. Ever since, I have become more appreciative of a hot cup of coffee, a steaming shower, and a warm toilet seat.

Like many others we have a plan to fill a tote with tinned goods, batteries, candles, flashlights, bottled water, and a very necessary roll of duct tape for emergency situations. Like many others, we have not done so yet. Perhaps we are being lazy, or just plain arrogant enough to think that we have ten years to do so before the next ice storm will happen.

Lately, we have paid a little more attention to weather reports.

As a result, we have become a reference for family members who want to know five day forecasts, and I have noticed that the colorful animated Doppler maps on certain evening news programs do not show any activity north of the border.

As a result, another new habit has developed. I turn to my wife every night as if puzzled by mother nature's patriotic exclusivity and point out the same odd fact.

"Look Hun! There's no weather happening in Canada."