Eat the Damn Cake

There’s nothing like a huge snowstorm and a power outage to remind you how much you need electricity for everything. And how hard it is to feel bad about your appearance by candlelight. Which, naturally, leaves one feeling contradicted. One being me.

I performed a Bar Mitzvah service yesterday morning, at my job in NJ. It started snowing hard in the middle of it. Everyone was turning to look out the window. The kid handled it really well. He was like, “God likes me.” And by the time I got to my parents’ house in the afternoon, the car was beeping like crazy as I nearly slid off the road. Not helpful, car, I notice that I’m sliding off the road.

“OK,” I thought, as I slid. “This might be the end.” I think I’m actually very good in near-death moments. Even though I’m, in general, terrified of dying.

My parents’ house was a disaster scene. There was no power. So no heat, no running water, no internet, and, of course, no lights. Mom and Dad were in the process of losing all of the beautiful trees they had so tenderly planted when they first moved in, about ten years ago. They were out in the snow, trying to save the trees by whacking the heavy snow off their drooping branches with mops and brooms, as branches broke and came crashing down around them.

It sounded a little like this:

“Honey! Get out from under there! This isn’t safe!”

—CRRRRAAAACCCCKKK—

“I’m fine! Go get the cherry tree! I’m going around to the maple.”

“Just one more, and then we’re going in!”

They stayed out there for a long time. And so did Bear and I, because we are useful sorts. I was wearing all of the clothes I’d brought, plus a batting helmet Dad found in the garage.

We did not succeed in the saving the trees.

(the scene from the following day, when the snow cleared)

In the end, Dad and Bear had to clear the driveway with an ax and a saw. They came back feeling very manly. And very, very cold.

(with expressions like this)

(looking like this)

Inside, Mom and I prepared for nightfall, gathering candles and flashlights and harvesting buckets of snow, which we stored in the bathtub for when we needed to flush the toilet.

We all gathered around the table as the wind slammed fresh snow against the windows. There was nothing to do except talk, and play Boggle. Bear and Mom are both disturbingly good at it (“Did anyone else get ‘asunder’? ‘effete’? ‘restated’? What about ‘snert’?), so I just play to make fun of them, and I try to talk really loudly while they’re concentrating (“OH MY GOD. TWELVE letters? What is that? Like, ten thousand points? Kate, you genius! Guys, guys– you’re not going to believe what I just found…”). They find it really annoying. As they should.

We went to bed early, in the deepening cold. I was wearing four layers of clothing. Bear was wearing a tee-shirt and shorts. I swear, something is wrong with the man. But at least he deserves his name.

It was surreal. We seemed vulnerable, suddenly– disconnected, lucky for the shelter of the house, and for the flickering candlelight. It seemed more apparent, suddenly, how dependent we all are on everything working, all the time. Like when you’re sick, and you recognize with bitter clarity how lucky you were before, when you weren’t.

But unlike being sick, there was something invigorating there. There was no chance of working, the way we all constantly work– over the internet, on our phones and computers. I didn’t even want to write, because it was important to conserve my computer’s battery, since I couldn’t plug  it in.

Instead, I played piano, for longer than I have in at least half a year. I’m usually just too busy. If I sit down at my keyboard, I’m up again, ten minutes later, to get something done. But last night, I put a candle on the piano, and I played for an hour. And then I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and my face in the warm, quick-changing light was new and interesting. It was impossible to pass an immediate judgment on, because parts of it were dark, like a secret.

It’s easy to idealize a simpler life or time, or more rural, earth-connected existence. I’m not fooling anyone or myself. I’m a city girl. I love technology. I love being able to flush the toilet without dumping icy water into the tank. I don’t want to move to the mountains just yet (OK, I fantasize about that a little).

But when the power came back on in the middle of the night, I was the tiniest bit disappointed.

The interruption was nice.

*  *  *

Unroast: Today I love the way I look in a huge coat. I look warm.

P.S. I just want to let you all know– I usually get at least one email a day from readers of this blog, often from people who don’t really want to share a comment publicly, but still have thoughts on something I wrote about. And almost all of you who write to me start like this, “I really don’t want to come off as creepy or annoying here…” and apologize for presuming to know me, just because you read this blog. Let me make this really clear: I love hearing from you, in whatever form, and you never sound creepy. You sound like we’re having a conversation, and I really like conversations. So never feel like you have to apologize. And if for some reason I don’t get back to you, it’s not because I’m not interested in what you have to say, it’s just because I get a lot of email and am disorganized and sometimes I just forget. So just remind me, if you still feel like talking!