The Memories that Live in the Mess

Snapping the handmade afghan, a gift from our wedding, up in the air, bits of stale popcorn flew up like confetti. There were eight blankets spread on the living room floor, their smell a combination of dribbled milk, kettle corn, cracker crumbs, Labrador, house cat and…my family. Here is where we made our bed two nights ago. Here is where we hunkered down during a blizzard, the second in five days, only this time, the power didn’t stay on. The lights flickered, and then, just didn’t come back on. We’d all just settled down in the living room for a “popcorn picnic” and a movie. The four of us, ready to weather this storm together, but not before we enjoyed the luxuries of outlets that were alive. We were only several minutes into Chicken Little, when it went dark.

It was dusk, and there was just enough light left to see our way around the house without bumping into too many things. First, I lit a candle, something my girls rarely see. I just don’t trust them with open flames. I grabbed the flashlight, and reached to the back of the hall closet for a basket with more candles. The girls delighted in helping mommy carry them into the kitchen and set them on the counter, and I should have known the little one was a bit too intrigued. I raced upstairs, and packed an overnight bag for the girls in case we decided to make a run for it. Without a fireplace or generator, it got cold fast. When I came back down, the toddler had found a particularly soft (unlit) candle, and had rubbed the red passion fruit scented wax all over her face like war paint. At least she smelled good during the whole ordeal.

After giving her an over-the-sink sponge bath, we made our way around the house, blanketing off rooms we wouldn’t use, all the while debating our options. My parents had power, and a generator, but at 11 miles away, didn’t seem like a smart option considering the whiteout raging around us. We could barely see the road in front of our house. How could we possibly see the road in front of us while driving? That decision to stay put was smarter than we realized.

So into the living room we all went. Fortunately, dinner had already been served, and it was the girls’ normal bedtimes. We brushed teeth in the candlelight, with the water that was left in the pipes. We bundled up the girls in warm jammies, and put a few extra layers on ourselves. I’ll never forget the sight of my little family in the candlelight. No real distractions, other than the extreme weather event outside our door. No movies, no TV, no ringing telephone, no pellet stove, no…noise. It was so, so quiet. Except for our girls, who saw this as nothing but a fun sleepover. They ran around like little twisters, until they bumped their heads one too many times on objects they couldn’t quite see. When they started to get out of control, I broke down and turned on the battery powered radio. Oddly, the only two stations that came in were a tejano/polka/Russian station (I swear, it sounded like a mix of all three, in one song), and a  pop station. After shimmying to the strange yet slightly catchy music on the first station, my preschooler did her thing to “California Girls.” I would normally not approve of this, but hey, we were desperate for a diversion. I just really hope she doesn’t start busting out these lyrics sometime soon.

Soon, with both parents nodding off, we decided to make if official and call it a night. All but one candle was blown out, and we shared a round of “Love Yous” and “Night, Night, Sleep Tight.” I snuggled the toddler up with me on the couch, a thick blue blanket covering us, made with love by my husband’s grandmother many moons ago. When her breathing was heavy, and her squirming subsided, I could rest my mind. I soaked in the silence, the smell of my little family all in one room, sleep cocooning us while a wild wind howled. We think it got down to about 50 degrees that night, chilly for sure, but not enough to keep the girls from sleeping soundly. I, on the other hand, slept lightly. Much like the watchman taking a shift to guard the camp while the others sleep. That night will forever be a place I return to. To dwell in the sweet survival of the moment.

When the glorious sun finally rose across the fields, I fell into a deep sleep. The morning did come. We would be okay. We woke to a frosting covered world. Snow blown into places we’d never dreamed, and our road indiscernible from the field on the other side. We decided to make a run for it. With no prospect of power soon returning, we were anxious to find warmth, and I fantasized about a hot cup of coffee. Hats, gloves, coats, snow boots, blankets…we bundled up and strapped ourselves in to my husbands big 4 W/D truck, fairly certain we might not make it to our final destination.

Not even a half mile from the house, we hit a drift. Probably 4 foot deep and 45 feet long, it was misleading in its ability to traverse. Formed at a dip in the road, it didn’t appear nearly as deep as it was. And right there, we were stuck. High-centered. After several failed attempts with the shovel, my husband finally broke down and called for help, something no man wants to do. But what else was there? Return to a house with no power or heat? Sit in the truck until the snow melted. Neither was an option. We waited, and waited, and waited. Help never came. My husband jumped back out to start shoveling again, meanwhile the girls were restless, fighting, not sensing the panic in their mother’s eyes.

A tap on the window. My husbands voice shouted through the glass. “The porch light is on!” Hallelujah! The lines were once again alive with energy. Our stove, our well, our TV, our refrigerator, the COFFEE POT would all be ready and waiting. “Why don’t you walk on back with the girls, and I’ll keep digging.” I propped the 34 pound butterball toddler on my right hip, and directed the preschooler through snow so deep it touched her waist. Once we rounded the truck and into the tire tracks, we had a much easier walking path. Through the tracks we trekked. North wind assaulting the right side of our faces, the bright sun deceptively reflecting off the white snow, giving the illusion of a beautiful day.

“Thank you Lord! Thank you Jesus! You brought the power back! Thank you Lord!” We sang like no other than Robert Duvall’s Apostle. There was no shame in our praise. We were happy girls. Tired, cold, happy girls. And just like that, life started returning to normal. The TV came on, Curious George once again took up residence in our living room. Meals were made, dishes were washed, jobs were returned to, but still, the mess on the floor remained. The soft place we landed. The safety net love built. And as I folded each blanket up tonight, I felt a sadness come over me. There were memories in that mess. And I just didn’t want to part with them so soon.