Winds of Time

In this neck of the Southern Ohio woods we had a big wind storm on Wednesday.

It blew my stepladder across the yard.  A lawn chair went on walkabout, and another decided to hide in the bushes.  The new fancy high-gain radio antenna provided by my broadband internet provider turned its back to the wind and almost wiggled loose from its roof-line mounting bracket.

Of more importance trees, cracked and stressed from the recent ice storm, gave up hanging onto their limbs and disrupted power lines.  We were without power for over 12 hours.  I feel lucky because the weather was warmer, and if I had to choose, I would choose to lose power during a warm wind storm instead of a bone chilling ice storm.  So, believe me when I say that I am not complaining.  Not one bit.

There was an interesting thing that happened while the power was out.  After I assured myself that we were not going to suffer any catastrophic damage, and Doris and I had set out candles; after the sun set and the doors and curtains were closed against the dark; after the power returned for a flirtatious fifteen minutes before vanishing again; after all of this I found myself curled up on the couch under a warm quilt reading by candlelight.

Except for the light source, the evening reminded me so much of the many evenings I had as a kid.  I grew up–well lets say ‘went many years’–without a TV.  Our entertainment was reading.  That is what I did while the wind howled outside.  I read.  I finished off a novella I had started.  It was the longest sustained reading period I have had in recent memory.  Close to three hours straight, just me and the story.  It was a blast.  I have gotten into the habit of reading in snatches; a few minutes here, maybe a half-hour there.  I am going to try and block off bigger chunks of time to devote to just reading.

After I finished reading I had a strange experience.  I have written some fiction every single day since the first of the year.  I had not gotten around to writing earlier in the day and with the power off my brain sort of shut off as well, informing me that my streak of days of continuous writing was over.  It wasn’t until I went to write “wooden matches” on the grocery list that it, um, occurred to me that pen and paper did not require electricity.  I grabbed a spiral notebook, ran through my mind the story I am currently writing, and filled a page.  261 words later, the streak was still intact.

The winds gave me time to destress as well.  Something I didn’t realize I needed before the power went out.  Work has been getting to me a bit.


One Response

  1. This will be cryptic to many people – she must have a very empty soul to seek power and wreak havoc as she does. Maybe we should pity her.

    In a related aside, because I am the person I am, if we did win the lottery this week ( a long shot, I know) I am going to hire that private investigator I joked about before. Heck, with that much money we wouldn’t even notice the cost and it would be oh so much fun to turn the tables on certain people.

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