Borderline Storm
I know what you're thinking. Let me put your mind at ease. The 12-packs have been accumulating for the past six weeks, and I only buy them when they are on sale. I know, I know. Actually, I can take or leave soda, but I've been in the taking mode lately. And when there's a storm, we all have to stock up on our comfort foods and drinks, and bread and milk. We'll lay around for days, hibernating in the junk food, while the bread gets moldy and the milk sours. As one grocery store owner would tell me, he lived for three magical words: "winter storm warning."
Every generation has its storm. I don't know if this storm is a whopper, any bigger than the Lake Effect snow that hit my Summit, Medina and Cuyahoga County friends a few days ago. I do know that in my lifetime, I have been through three major storms: the July 4, 1969 floods (I was 10 months old), the 1977-78 blizzards (I was nine and 10 for those gems) and the 2004-05 ice storm and subsequent floods (I was 36, but who's counting?).
The 2004 ice storm was forecast to be a major storm. And it was. Our power along the Borderline was out for, um, 12-16 hours. The night before the storm hit, I stopped at a grocery store in Orrville, and it looked as if the Apocalypse was coming, or locusts had swarmed the aisles, leaving them devoid of any bread (of course), milk (certainly), or junk food, life sustainer of all. I packed my suitcase with three days' worth of clothes and supplies and headed to my then-job. Since I had to sign on at 5:30 a.m., I decided not to risk the 25-mile drive in the next morning. The new building where I worked had what was known as The Motel: a bedroom with a twin bed, and a large bathroom with a shower, and a space heater. My then-boss ordered a pizza and salad to be delivered to me and while I watched the rain fall, I settled in for the night.
Three days from Christmas, the storm started when it was predicted, and its results were staggering. The next morning, all hell had broken loose in Holmes County. The extreme cold snapped power lines, blew up (yes, blew up) trees, entombed my car and tree limbs fell all around like leaves on an October day. Many people likened the sound of exploding trees to a war zone. Sleeping in my home bed on Christmas Eve, I thought a telephone pole had snapped and fallen on the roof. Instead the house-shaking sound was from a tree 100 feet away, splitting in half.
The ice storm made my career in broadcasting and media, in general. Working for three-straight days with a skeleton crew, we were inundated with volunteers, food, and gifts. To this day, people will stop me and tell me how a voice on the radio was the only thing that kept them in touch with the outside world. Of course, at the time, I don't think many of us in Holmes County saw the ice storm as the blessing it was. I didn't. In the end, some people were without power for 13 days, and Santa had to do some make-up stops after Christmas, but it was a great time of serious caring and togetherness. Really. My former colleagues and I may shake our heads and think, "not for us!" but it was, even for us. Unlike the catastrophic floods of '69, no one died, no one got malaria, and few suffered massive damages, though the following floods did lead to a house fire and some burst pipes in homes during the cold.
The volunteer spirit throughout the Holmes County community, plus the out-of-state assistance, made the ice storm an experience that was more uncomfortable for most, rather than horrible. Near the end, some people got snippy. After a few days, a woman still without electricity called to complain she was tired of living on toaster pastries and hot dogs, and wanted a group of community volunteers who were fixing meals to deliver a hot meal to her. No, she said, better make that several meals, so she had enough for company. And she was certain her dairy farmer neighbor had power, why didn't she? I explained that her neighbor, like most farmers, had an alternator or generator powering his barn lights. She hrrumphed and hung up. I didn't lose any sleep over whether or not she got that hot meal.
We often hear the words "blizzard" or "massive storm" and feel that we must be ultimately prepared for the inevitable, you know, like not enough pop on hand, or frozen pizzas or boring old bread and milk. In reality, for most of us, our cupboards are filled, we have enough clothing and we can survive a few days of inconvenience. I feel for those who make their livings on the road, have long commutes, or like I did for 14 years, have to be at work before 90 percent of the rest of the workforce. Waiting out the storms can be nerve-wracking. Trust me.
However, while we complained about the ice storm and all of its problems, half a world away, the world was, well, being washed away. The tsunami that took a quarter of a million lives seemed so distant with people affected that didn't seem to matter to most of us. My cousin's husband, from Sri Lanka, had some tense moments trying to connect to relatives and friends, but overall, what did it matter? What effect does death and destruction on the other side of the planet have on us? I mean, we're tired of hot dogs and toaster pastries, or worried about whether we have enough unhealthy diet pop to last us (into the new year and beyond, in reality). We saw death and destruction and images of suffering and may have shuddered, but then again, it didn't affect us. We wanted power and heat. We put our temporary lack of modern conveniences way ahead of Third World suffering and death. If you didn't, well, I'll take your spot, because I did.
Sometimes it takes a storm or a disruption of the normal for me to realize how great my life is. I am watching snow fall out the back of my dining room doors, and enjoying the birds at their feeders, while my dogs playfully (and seriously) chase them. Too often I forget that temporary disruption for me is another burden of pain and suffering for someone else, who doesn't have what I have. Even if I don't think I have much.
And that's the way things go for us, I suppose. In the moment, in the seriousness of the situation, with the snow piling up as we watch from our windows, we fret about being stuck at home. Sometimes, no, most of the time, I forget that there is someone, somewhere, cold in the snow, wishing they too, were watching from the outside.