grateful

On Saturday, the power truck pulled up outside our home.   "What are the chances we'll get our power back today?" I asked the electrician.  With a broad grin, he replied, "100%!"  Music to my ears.  Our power finally came back five days after Hurricane Sandy took it.

The tree that took out our power.  Notice the electrical pole that was broken in half!

 
During the outage, we were fortunate to have heat and the ability to cook.  We don't have a TV, so we were used to entertaining ourselves in low-tech ways.  But running the business was hard, and I hoped that people would be patient (most were, thankfully!).  Not having phone or cell service for a few days was an inconvenience.  On the bright side, neighbors stopped by to commiserate.  An inspired decision to use raw almond milk before it spoiled to make hot chocolate not only lifted our spirits, but also will likely become a treasured childhood memory for my daughter.  What could be better than drinking rich hot chocolate by candlelight?  We felt like we were at Angelina Rumpelmayer's.

The neighborhood kids enjoying the fallen trees.  This spruce tree was about 100 feet tall.  I was later informed that the two girls on the left (my daughter and our next door neighbor E) had spotted an evil green witch who had knocked the tree over!!!  Yes, an evil green witch named Sandy!

Despite these enjoyable moments, we were eager for the return of electricity to help put this experience behind us.   What was one of the first things I did?  I got the vacuum out and started cleaning.   I felt the need to sanitize myself from this experience.  On a more practical note, it was surprising to see how dusty and icky the house looked after the storm.  After not being able to see properly for days, I felt a sense of satisfaction as I chased down little dust bunnies and zapped up every little crumb.  But more than anything, it felt good to try to clear up the stress and fatigue of the last week in some small way. 

Still, sadness lingers.  You can't look out a window and avoid scenes of destruction.  An e-mail from a friend today spoke of her family finding a rental to share with neighbors after returning to homes with a foot of sea water.  I think of her beautiful clavichord, harpsichord, and Mason & Hamlin.  What will become of these treasures?  Her home, beautiful with its endless stacks and rows of books?  But her e-mail was so chipper, in her usual way.  Her family is safe, together, and in a comfortable place.  Pumps have moved the water out, and movers arrive tomorrow.  They are grateful, and so am I.