Today we feasted on the last of the oranges and the peanut butter. Tomorrow we die.
Well, maybe not. But our larder is getting sparser and they’re still telling us to stay inside, stay off the roads, take shelter, take cover–whatever dire warning you can imagine, we’re getting it.
The reason for all this? A spring snowstorm.
Not just an overnight onslaught of snow. It’s now Sunday and this has been going on since Friday night. Snow, wind, more snow, more wind, a few ice pellets here and there. Winter is at the gates and the siege shows no sign of lessening.
George ventures out four times a day with the dog who runs frantically here and there, trying to find someplace where she can actually squat. She’s been doing her #1 and #2 in record time, out and back in three minutes, tops. George blew us out twice,
but is now holding back because the spare gas is gone and all we have left is what’s in the machine.
Today George slogged his way to our mail station with a tube of deicer, managed to get the door open, and found–nothing. Never mind “neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night…” They’re not delivering. They’re not even attempting it. Can’t say as I blame them.
The biggest “tell” that this is a storm of ginormous proportions is that Catholic Masses in Sturgeon Bay, Maplewood and Institute were canceled for this weekend. I heard they’re closed in Green Bay, too. I never remember that happening anywhere I’ve lived–and I’ve lived in northeastern Minnesota, up on Lake Superior, where “blizzard” is a child’s first word. I can just hear the pastors, on the phone with each other: “Are you closing? I’m thinking of closing. I’ll close if you close.”
George and I held “Mass” in our living room. I have a book with daily Mass prayers and readings, so we sat in our recliners, prayed the words, read the three Scripture, and George even made up his own music for the responsorial psalm. I felt Jesus’ presence and I know he smiled.
Yesterday I made bread and George made cookies. The house smelled wonderful. I caught up on reading and telephoned my sister. Today I might crank up the sewing machine, and George is doing a “live” guitar concert on Facebook for our Door County friends who think the rest of the world has somehow disappeared, like Shangri-La. There might be a backgammon tournament in our future, or some Wii golf. We’ve discovered the remake of “Lost in Space” on Netflix streaming.
In between all that, I’m thawing things from the back of the freezer and opening cans from the pantry that I forgot I even had. If this keeps up, my neighbors can expect a phone call: “What do you have left in YOUR larder?” This could turn into the biggest, and most important, block party ever.