The interesting thing about disasters is that it recalls other disasters that may have been even more harrowing than the one you’re living through. As I write this, my generator roars, and if it weren’t supplying our house with all the electricity we need, I’d be standing at my front door yelling, “Shut up! Too loud. Shut up or I’ll call the cops!” So this outage for me is not so harrowing.
Several years ago Hurricane Sandy roared through the area. The devastation was horrifying, mostly due to the storm surge, but there was plenty of wind to bring down trees and wires. Our lights flickered and died, and there was no generator to save the day. The heat went off and the house started to get cold. While the outdoor temperature during the day was tolerable, maybe 55, at night it dropped. I called the electric company. No estimated restoration time given, but it wouldn’t be soon.
I spent hours walking around the neighborhood marveling at the downed trees, the tangled wires, the amazed and appalled looks on the faces of my fellow neighbors. These kinds of disasters tend to bring people together who otherwise wouldn’t exist for us. But I didn’t feel much togetherness and I don’t know if that was me or them. We were all in the same boat, and the boat was sinking. Time to run for the lifeboats.
My wife and daughter decided to drive to Virgina to stay with my sister-in-law. I volunteered to stay with the house and guard against intruders. I pictured myself as an old hillbilly sitting on my front porch with a shotgun across my lap and a bottle of moonshine to keep me warm. But I had neither shotgun nor moonshine so I just stayed indoors and hoped the crazed marauders would look elsewhere for food and shelter.
During the day I did connect with two neighbors down the street: and older woman and her twenty something daughter. I stood in the street and we talked for a long time. “We’re so cold at night” the mother said. “This house is old and the insulation is terrible. I don’t know what to do. All the hotels are full.”
“You’re welcome to sleep in my house. It’s staying relatively warm, and there’s nobody else but me.” They declined. We had no power for 17 days. When things went back to normal I kept an eye out for the older woman and her daughter, but I never saw them again.
We’ve since moved out of that neighborhood. Every time a storm comes, I think of the older woman and her daughter, and hope they are somewhere safe, dry, and warm.