I would have made a terrible Laura Ingalls.
After the storm.
On the ride home from Vermont on Monday morning after a long weekend away with girlfriends, we went out of our way to stop at a hippy dippy community farm to pick up some provisions to bring home. There's a walk up window with a menu on a chalkboard stretched above it detailing whatever baked goods, fresh produce and such they had that day. Things like hummus made from ramps or cilantro and loaves of seeded semolina and crunchy almond croissants. I decided to get a loaf of sliced white sandwich bread and quart of mixed ripe tomatoes -- bright red and green ones with stripes and a larger one that was almost purple -- to make BLTs when I got home that night.
But I'd forgotten I had a pork tenderloin and bunch of asparagus still in the frig from a shopping excursion the week before, so my sons and I grilled the meat and I made my famous horseradish sauce that they love and saved the BLTs for the next night.
But then, if you live on the East Coast and coastal New Jersey in particular, you know what happened next. That storm with a name I can't even pronounce marauded up the coast, dumping buckets of rain to the west and here in the east, blowing everything down in its path. And it was very efficient -- the storm seemed to come out of nowhere, then the wind picked up with a vengeance and in no time, it was gone.
I drove the teenager to work that afternoon and encountered branches blocking the roadway and a giant tree that had been toppled over, pulling the surrounding lawn up with its roots, which looked like a big green blanket lifted off the ground. When we got to Ocean Avenue where the teen works at a big restaurant, a power line was draped across the street and cars were being forced to turnaround by a police officer and my teen jumped out and walked the rest of the way.
Initially, our power stayed on while friends in town began to report theirs had gone, and I was feeling pretty hopeful that we dodged that bullet. I don't do well without electricity, as evidenced by the two weeks we went without it after Sandy when I sat in the dark and drank a lot of bourbon.
About an hour later, my friend text thread buzzed with news of returned power and then just like that I heard a loud POP outside and -- POOF -- our lights went out.
So we went to bed that first night with our windows wide open, letting in nary a breeze but instead the incessant drum of the neighbor's generator, which sounded like a NASCAR event all night long in the nearby driveway. The boys finally dragged our generator out of the shed the next day and a friend's lovely husband came over to try to get it going, explaining to me along the way how it should turn on and what it actually does. After many tries, the thing would not turn over and instead, we borrowed their generator and I went out in search of gas.
All the gas stations nearby were closed because of continued power outages and I ended up at a QuickCheck all the way up Route 35 in Eatontown, where I joined a LONG line of other cars trying to inch towards a gas pump that were feeding through two different entrances. Think: 1970s gas shortage situation. It was a shit show, exacerbated by the guy behind me who kept honking his horn and had his window down so I could hear him shouting at who knows what. I finally made my way to a pump and eventually got out of the car (something you don't really do here in Jersey) to hail the attendant over and he was like, "Oh, I can't do that, but I'll be right back," and he ran away. Finally, having had to do these things myself in other states, I figured out how to work the Full Serve gas pump and filled the can and quickly got the fuck out of there and went home, after a quick stop at the liquor store.
I have not really been drinking, but I got home and poured a big glass of Chardonnay and then set about trying to pour the gas into the generator, but I couldn't figure out how to open the spout on the gas can. I kept trying to twist and slide these plastic pieces and at one point, the little thing snapped back really quickly, catching my finger in its teeth.
And that's when I started to cry.
My older son pulled me into a hug and rubbed my back and told me it sucks and we'd be okay. And we were. We got the generator to work (thanks to some muscle from my ex husband who came to help) and plugged in the frig and the new AC unit in my TV room. We grilled some burgers and sat outside where it was cool as the air conditioner went to work on the hot, hot room, and I drank a lot of white wine and went upstairs to bed. But the room was like an oven and all of the generators in the neighborhood were making such a racket, that I grabbed a sheet and headed for the couch downstairs and, thanks to all the wine, fell right asleep.
I slept late (*wine*) and my older son peeked in and I asked if he would go out and find coffee and gas and heard him grumbling about it while I laid on the couch, considering the long, hot day ahead, and then heard him yell. "The lights just came on," he shouted, and I was like, "Thank fucking god."
To celebrate last night, I stopped at the market and picked up fancy bacon and some butter lettuce and came home to toast up that white bread and slice those gorgeous tomatoes. My younger son had work so it was just me and the big guy, biting into those perfect BLTs, with just some Helmann's mayo and a little salt and pepper. I always make my bacon in the oven and the thick slabs were perfectly browned and chewy as we bit into them. We took our time eating and had a comment to make after every bite.
And maybe they would have tasted as good a few days earlier, but I'm not so sure. I mean, all of the ingredients were absolutely perfect, but I think the struggles of the previous few days made us appreciate those sandwiches a little more than usual. They tasted like summer for sure but also, a little bit like what I imagine perseverance to taste like, if it had a flavor. If there was a way you could roll getting through challenging times around in your mouth, like an oaky Chardonnay. You remember just how good it tastes to get yourself through hard things, even when it's something as silly as not having power. It makes you persist, even when you don't want to, when you wished somebody else would just do it so you can sit around and cry and sweat. And then when you see the big plate of it sitting in front of you, you can't wait to bite into it and taste it again.
Friday Faves
I went from buying nothing during the pandemic to a whole bunch of things recently.
Other women yell across parking lots to tell me how much they love this dress. It looks pretty great in person, too, and you can't beat $30 price tag or a muumuu in general.**
Between the shots I recently got in both of my feet and these amazing new slides, I am like a new person. At first, I thought they were kinda ugly but now am thinking they're kinda cool.**
We went to my favorite bookstore in Vermont and I was hot to buy this light and frothy beach read, which I read in four days.*
Book club this month has been put on hold due to the mass power outages but I hope we do rescheduled because I really enjoyed the book and think there is much we can discuss.*
I made this banana bread recently when I found myself with bananas rotting on my counter and was reminded how frigging amazing it was.
Did you know there was a whole archive of emails I've sent out during this here pandemic? Me neither. Go have fun and track my mental health status.
Did you notice how fancy I'm getting, with affiliate links and disclosures (see below)? It's like I'm a real business lady. It will make all my shopping worth it. :)
*Disclosure: I am an affiliate of Bookshop.org and I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase.
**Disclosure: I am an Amazon Associate and will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase.