ice

We all knew it was coming for days. Grocery store shelves had been cleared out; utility crews were at the ready, anticipating major outages; small talk all over the city was dominated by the coming storm: do you really think it's going to be as bad as they say?

By Thursday afternoon, I had become progressively more apprehensive about losing power, or about the possibility of a water pipe bursting and not knowing how to handle it myself. The Colonel had texted me from Afghanistan to tell me that it would be wise to unscrew the garden hoses from the outside faucets. It was already dark when I arrived home to attempt this, with only a half hour before I had to leave for a dinner party. I threw on a coat over my black peplum top and camel-colored pencil skirt, exchanged my dressy boots for rubber wellies, grabbed a pair of the Colonel's work gloves, went out into the cold drizzle and bushes and attempted to disconnect the hoses. Neither one budged even a centimeter. Freezing and huddled in the bushes, I wrenched with all my might, even facetiming the Colonel to make sure all this was really necessary. It was 4:30 a.m. his time. Ultimately, I ended up saying "fuck it," going into the garage, grabbing a set of pruning shears, and cutting off both hoses. Done and done. I threw the shears down at the back door, went inside, changed back into my leather boots, fixed my hair and left for the evening.

Thursday night, I attended a holiday dinner party with a group of women who have become dear friends. Some brought their husbands or other family members. After the party had ended, we all left the warmth of that gathering, stepped out into the cold drizzle, started up our cold cars, drove to our respective homes, and there, we all waited.

And as expected, in the wee hours of the morning, it came: the sound of freezing rain and ice against total quiet. Awake in my bed, I listened.

It wasn't as bad as they said it would be, but it was bad enough to effectively shut the city down. For the next three days, we were all iced in. Some people got out. I really had no desire to leave my house at all. I didn't know how starved I had been for the solitude and the fireplace and the tea and the total halt to all outside demands. I let myself fall into it completely. When it was light, I hung out with the WP and we watched movies and I baked and shared popovers and we decorated for Christmas. I ran on the treadmill. She went sledding with neighbors and texted friends and I cooked hot meals for us and sifted through the week's mail. I talked to a couple of friends on the phone. I curled up on the sofa with the dog and binge-watched The Fall (which is excellent, I totally recommend it) on Netflix.

At night, after tucking in the WP and dripping the faucets, I climbed into my bed and welcomed the bleak, cold, dark quiet. I wanted it to completely envelop me, and it almost did, but for the faint sizzle of the finite, like a love affair you would completely give yourself over to, if only you didn't know its days were already numbered.

Welcome, winter. I am not afraid of you.

Here's the playlist.