The temperatures are in the teens here in Oklahoma today, by far the coldest day of this weather season. The wind is from the northwest at about 20 miles per hour and bites right through you. It is cold.
But, I am not complaining. The sky is blue and sunny. Other than the temperature, it is a pleasant day outside. And we got oh so lucky. The precipitation stayed to the north of us in Kansas and Nebraska. We got a little bit of rain, but that is about it. And I am thankful.
Two years ago, almost to the day, a very nasty winter storm devestated eastern Oklahoma. Many trees broke as a result of the thick coating of ice; hundreds of thousands of people were without power. I was without power and water for a week, having to hole up in three different hotels in Bartlesville. It is because of the ice storm, and how powerless those who lived in the countryside were, that I moved into Bartlesville. At least living in the city I know that if we ever have another ice storm like that again that I will not be isolated and alone.
I remember going back to my house several days after the storm hit to check on things. Living two-thirds of the way up a hill, I had to park at the bottom, and walk 800 feet up my ice-covered driveway to my house. When I reached my house, I will filled with sadness. Quite a few of my trees were destroyed. While I was standing in my yard, the eerie silence was broken by a loud “bang”. I spun around, to see if there was a hunter shooting a rifle. There wasn’t. What I heard was the sound of one of my trees breaking under the weight of all the ice. There was so much ice that it ripped my Christmas lights off of my house, or at least some of them. I was left with two half strands, as that part of the strand that was firmly attached to the house was still attached, while the rest was laying on the ground, attached to the ground by a inch or so of ice.
This morning when I took the trash out, it was about 14 degrees. While on my way from the back door to the alley, I stopped, looked around, and filled my lungs with the cold, dry air. I smiled as I felt the frozen grass crunch under my feet. The first nasty winter storm had passed, and I was still in my house, still able to drive to work unfettered, still able to live my ordinary routine life. We’d gotten lucky, and we had been blessed by God. An early divine Christmas present, I guess.
A Hard Slap In The Face
Thursday, December 10th, 2009Sometimes, it takes a traumatic event to sight things right again. For example, a common cure for the hiccups is to startle the hiccuping person, and it works, too. When our great nation was in the doldrums for a decade, the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor snapped us out of it and gave us purpose and focus once again.
I have spent this week throwing myself a massive pity party about a situation that I have no control over, namely Christmas. All of my bellyaching doesn’t change one iota that I have zero control over what other people do. Even if I am skeptical, based on past history, that they won’t do what they say they will do, I need to give them the chance to fail, and not be so melodramatic and jump to a conclusion that, despite its high probability of occurring, is not guarenteed to occur. I preach the message of entropy, that there is a certain amount of randomness in the universe that can and does change what we think is a guaranteed outcome; somehow, in my self-absorption, I have turned a deaf-ear to my own message. Sometimes it’s just too easy to mope and feel sorry for myself.
On the way to work this morning, my wife called me. I could hear profound sadness in her voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“My grandmother died.”
“Are they sure this time?”
(A year ago, they had told her her grandmother died, only to find out it was a case of mistaken identity, and it was her grandmother’s roommate that died.)
“Yes. At 2 AM.”
What do you say when your wife tells you her beloved grandmother died? I felt as helpless as I did when my ex-wife’s father died. “I’m sorry” sounds cheesy. So does “She’s in a better place.”
“At least she’s not suffering anymore.”
I regretting saying it as soon as it came out of my mouth.
“But she’s still dead.”
Ouch. Good point. Better to be alive and in pain than dead and pain-free. Feeling like a first-class heel due to my inability to say anything, I did what most people do when confronted with an uneasy silence – I changed the subject.
“How’s your Dad holding up?”
As her paternal grandmother is the only family my father-in-law has left in Stillwater, as her mother passed last December, it’s a legitimate question.
“He’s doing okay, I guess.”
I was relieved to hear that. As her grandmother has donated her body to science, there will be no funeral. As her grandmother only has four living descendants in Oklahoma, there will be no memorial service, which I think is a tragedy, as memorial services are important for closure.
In two consecutive Decembers, my wife has had three major traumas. In December 2008, she lost her mother, and thought she lost her grandmother. In the first ten days of December 2009, she had her son snatched and now has lost her grandmother again, except this time it isn’t a false alarm.
On top of all that, she doesn’t need to put up with my pity party. Right now, she needs a husband, not a 43 year old self-pitying baby. What happens with Christmas, happens. Perhaps I might be surprised and my ex will actually show up on time, and we will have a good Christmas, all eleven of us. Regardless, my wife needs me right now, so it is time for me to snap out of my doldrums. Call it my own personal Pearl Harbor.
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