The party in the teeth of the storm
Posted on | January 5, 2008 | No Comments
6:20 a.m., Friday, Jan. 4: Power goes out. Still sleeping. 7:15 a.m.: Awaken. Why? There’s no power for the alarm, which is set for 7:30, to go off. Why do I set the alarm for 7:30 on a vacation day? Because the gods decided it’s a great idea to schedule driver’s ed classes for 15-year-old kids during the few days of their father’s existence where he can actually sleep in! And I pay for it all! 7:30 a.m.: Realize the reason the coffee grinder’s not grinding is that there’s (a) no power and (b) no caffeine in my system. No worries. There’s green tea in the cupboard. Ooops. Stove clicker won’t ignite gas burner. No power. Well, that’s why God made matches. 7:35 a.m.: Walk outside to grab morning papers. Wind in nearby eucalyptus trees more deafening than a Hillary Clinton stump speech. Wished they’d been planted in New Hampshire. Morning papers wrapped and dry. Don’t care at this point how many seagulls choke to death on the plastic wrappers. I have dry newspapers. Only thing worse than wet newspapers is Fred Thompson on the hustings. 7:40 a.m.: Wake Malcolm—a task that normally is as enjoyable as inseminating a badger. Today is a different. Whisper that the power’s out. Adventure seems to pop him right out of bed. Cheerfully too! Wow! 8:15 a.m.: Leave early for driver’s ed so Malcolm can get lunch at local market. A downed oak blocks one of our streets. Branches litter the others. Roads flooded. Power out all over town. Local market about as open as George Bush is to compromise. Drive to Kentfield where the power’s own. Figures the rich town has power. Buy ground coffee and Malcolm buys a sandwich for lunch. My town isn’t populated with 5,000 derivatives traders so maybe that’s why we don’t have power. 8:55 a.m.: Drop Malcolm off at class in a modular classroom down near the marsh. It’s only a matter of time before it floats and takes on sheep, birds and badgers on its journey to Mt. Ararat. Head home through back streets. Wind fierce as I pass our old house in a redwood grove that I was certain was going to be crushed in 100-mph winds in ’94. Radio report says highway 101 is shut down, and trucks were blown over on their sides on the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge. Pull over to the curb gasping for breath as I get an awful feeling that one of those trucks belongs to the local beer distributor. Deprivation starting to hit home. Look up to see rain actually cartwheeling in front of me. Every light in town is out, even city hall where, admittedly most of the bulbs are out even when the power’s on. It occurs to me the power could be out for days. God I hope that beer-truck driver is OK. Ponder a rescue operation. 9:15 a.m.: Arrive home. Starting bringing wood into the house for the fire. Heidi up and battling a cold. Fire, fresh coffee and morning newspapers and a quiet house devoid of children. Thank you JESUS! Snap out of my reverie to worry about the beer-truck driver. Say quick rosary. 9:45 a.m.: Warming up now in front of the fire. Made my way through the IJ and The Chronicle and I’m diving into The Journal when I think of that lonely beer truck on its side on the bridge. Bridge closed. Highway closed. Lots of sad faces expected in my town. Suddenly realize I’m sitting atop 40 gallons of wine in the cellar and 3 gallons of homebrew IPA in the garage fridge. Praise the lord! We’ll see you boys at NOON! 10:15 a.m.: Neighbor fires up generator. What the…? We’re not in the 9th Ward for god’s sake. Noon: Gas must have run on the generator because all I hear is the fury of nature outside. Time for leftover crab and IPA. Man, doesn’t get much better than that. I think they serve this while you’re waiting for St. Peter. 12:35 p.m.: Malcolm calls to say class will let out early at 1:30. Dang. 1:25 p.m.: Head down the hill to pick up Malcolm. 101 still shut down. Main roads more congested than Mitt Romney’s logic. Snake through back streets just waiting for someone’s bay tree to crush my truck. 1:30 p.m.: Pick up Malcolm. His down jacket is soaked. Funny thing is if I hadn’t hectored him in the morning to get a coat in the first place, he’d simply be soaked in a t-shirt. Kids these days. 2 p.m.: More log hauling. A little yoga. Storms easing a bit. 3 p.m.: Play “Risk” with Malcolm. End up getting absolutely waxed by a kid who’s just learning how to pronounce Irkutsk. 5 p.m.: Cocktail hour clangs its joyful bell moments before my neighbor, who apparently has found the last gallon of gas in the county, grinds up his generator outside. Something tells me he doesn’t have a fire place, so I ease up a bit on the voodoo doll. 7 p.m.: Apres-dinner poker game in front of the fire. You guessed it: I got waxed not only by the kid but by my wife who never seems to understand the concept of bluffing until you think you’ve caught her bluffing and she didn’t. 7:15 p.m.: Check radio reports. Bridge cleared and trucks moved off. Resolve to send donation to beer-truck driver’s aid fund in the morning. 10 p.m.: Everyone’s in bed. I’m in front of the fire making notes. Stars are peeking out, more brilliantly than normal since a third of a million people aren’t shining lights in the Bay Area. In ’94 I walked outside in the pitch black after the storm had moved through but before the lights came back. I looked up and wondered about a world in which we could see the stars (really see them) at night in the neighborhoods in which we live. Sure you can drive into the Sierra or the desert, but that’s not for everyone. What would it mean for a world so insulated from nature to be stunned by the stars on a regular basis? Stars have many points of wonderment but today perhaps their most important job is telling us that it’s not all about us; that the marvels of nature are more powerful than the marvels of software jockeys and TV producers. Maybe the power comes on overnight. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter really. It was a great day.
The biggest storm in about 10 years ( 13 to be exact because I was there) blasted the Bay Area this week and we lost power for a day and a half (so far). I had nothing better to do so I kept a log.
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January 7th, 2008 @ 8:08 am
The game Risk? That might have been a good item to include IN the fireplace. I always hated losing the next world war. Hope you guys had a good holiday and glad to see that you enjoyed a bit of our fine New England weather. Good luck with the new driver too.