Welcome to Snowmaggedon, 2021!
The State of Texas – and a huge chunk of the nation – is weathering a historic winter storm. His-tor-ic. Like massive. Like broken high records and broken low records – and broken snow fall. Basically, everything’s broken, including the electricity and the water.
For instance, here in River City, about 30,000 folks have been without power for 24+ hours.
At my house, we went 26 hours with only a fireplace, PB&Js, and lots of layers. And, frankly, when I write it out like that, it doesn’t sound that bad at all.
But the reality is that I had a moment very early in the morning, alone with the cat in front of the fire, when I began to wonder about my mental health. I mean, if I’m honest, I always worry about my mental health, but this was more. This was Pioneer-Woman/Little-House-on-the-Prairie/Donner-Party worry.
So I did what all evolved, first-world, spiritually in-tune women do when such things happen: I wrote in my journal, and I began with the opposite of what I was feeling. I began with things I was grateful for, and, so, here with maybe a little revision, is that list in no particular order…
My appreciation for the laughable irony that I live in a house with entirely electric everything, but my dad worked for a natural gas company for like a million years. Sigh.
The sound of icicles falling off pine trees, tinkling like little bells as they make their ways down to land softly in the snow.
The Hair Shampoo Challenge, which began with me wondering how long I could go before I washed it and ended with me and the 2-in-1 Head and Shoulders in the kitchen sink. (I will add that, because our hot water heater is also electric, I am NOT grateful for the worst ice cream headache of my life that went with this clean hair.)
The opportunity to sit in Grandmother Duckworth’s chair (She was my paternal grandmother’s paternal grandmother.) as it was pulled up close to the fire and the chance to wonder how many fires it had been pulled up to before on how many other snowy nights.
Cards Against Humanity, which I played with the boys by candlelight. (The 19-year-old took out all the cards that might embarrass or enrage me, and, TBH, I don’t know what was wrong with this version. It was still ridiculous and fun!)
Memories of other fires in other houses with other people, like the Squyres’ farmhouse where my grandad would get up at ridiculous hours to put on more logs and like the wood stove at the house of my childhood where my dad often started fires with methods that OSHA would very much frown upon.
My Olaf pajama bottoms.
The knowledge that, in such frigid temperatures, the food in the fridges and the freezers would be fine.
The snow. It has brought with it many things we are still unprepared for, but, OMGolly, it is beautiful!
The knowledge that, in a weird, martyr-like way, I am grateful to be without power because I know how much worse it might be for someone else.
The lesson I have learned about candles: No matter what, a savvy gal will always have a stash of UNSCENTED candles on hand. When all was said and done, there was a long period there where our house smelled like a French house of ill repute.
The trek to the back fence where I stashed the fire wood that I never thought I would use. Those slogs made my heart pump and stopped the walls from closing in.
In the end, my mental health seems different after I made this list, and I learned, yet again, what I already knew: Gratitude is the best of all antidotes.
Y’all stay safe out there…
“Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus”
1 Thessalonians 5:18, NIV