Hailing Frequencies Open

The fact that I'm writing this on a Sunday is indication enough that power is back on in Mossback. But what you can't see is me sitting back with a micro-waved cup of 2-day old coffee (and enjoying it) while watching the sunrise. Yesterday, starting a fire to heat up a cup of coffee seemed an extravagance. Now, I don't have to think about it. Indulge.

But I was perfectly content the night before. With K in a perfectly heated duplex in Tacoma (she'd driven up from Eugene, through snow, sleet, and idiots...and just missed an accident with a jack-knifed semi), all I had to think about were me and the animals...and they provided warmth. I got a roaring fire going--the little convection fan on top of it was singing--put a kettle on, warmed their meals, and made myself a grilled cheese sandwich and soup...and after, made a cup of hot cocoa. There were enough candles for man and beast to make their way through the cabin. The only concern was I was getting down to scraps for firewood, but had already made plans to get more the next day. I could kick back and watch the darkness on the Island across the way. The next time I looked...at ten...there were lights. Crews were working while I was relaxing. Bless their overtime-payed hearts. I passed them Saturday night a mile from my house, the bucket-cranes and searchlights going over the lines over a stretch of road where three old-growth trees has fallen in the storm (Citizen-volunteers with chain-saws had cleared the road Friday morning). Two and half hours later we had lights, blaring radios (I turned them on so that if everything came on in the night, I could wake up and hit the circuit-breaker for the troublesome water-heater), and a bit of relief.

But we were fine.

My camping-out Friday night came after a fruitless trip to the 1'sn'0's ranch in Redmond. The storm on the Island was not as fearsome as predicted (we did have 60 mph winds, but the Coast was hit by gusts in the 90's), but Seattle and vicinity was hit by winds it hasn't seen since the early 80's. Lots of Seattle went down. But the Eastside--Bellevue, Redmond, Kirkland, Newcastle, Woodinville--simply went dark. So, when I arrived at the Ranch, I was surprised to see not a light in any window, and you couldn't get in because the card-key system allowing entrance had no power. Ironically, crews were digging up the asphalt by my work-gulag to put in new communication-lines. Dig all you want, it's no good without the spark in the pilot-light.

I cell-phoned co-workers to let them know it was closed (It may be the Information Age, but 1'sn'0's doesn't do well with "word-of-mouth") and co-worker Matt and I found a way inside the building and wandered the halls. Nothing darker. We went to our offices (mine is a converted storage closet that never had so much as an overhead light!), then settled in a co-workers office by a window (I'd previously gone through and started opening louvers to let more light in the main hall-ways) and chatted. We'd had one can of pop from the kitchen, and were just discussing hitting the keg on the fourth floor, when Security came by, in the form of an affable, chunky kid in his 20's, to tell us we had to "evacuate the building." He was about to go down the impossibly dark main-stairwell, when we advised he take the windowed side-stairs. "Um," he considered while shining his flash-light down the big shaft, "there are SIDE stairwells?" (click) "Lead ON!" Nice guy. He was enjoying the day, and the oddness of the situation, and at least, he was working. Most folks who pulled up resigned themselves to turning around and making the torturous trek home (with the 520 bridge closed, most surface streets were filled to bursting), but some "Masters of the Universe" slammed back into their SUV's and peeled out of the parking garage in protest. "Have a Safe Trip!"

So, no work-hours. I couldn't even log in my hours for the week. But, I had the dog with me, so I took him down to Marymoor Park which has the biggest off-leash dog park either of us have ever seen. We walked trails and chased frisbee's (he did) and sniffed strange dog butt's (...he did) 'til he was exhausted. He slept the whole trip back.

Signs of the Apocalypse Department: 99% of the trip home's over, and I've just turned off the highway, when the car gets pelted with hail-stones. The dog in the back-seat starts to look alarmed. I've been though hail-storms--they peter out pretty fast--but this one just keeps going and growing in intensity. It's so absurdly forceful that I start laughing out loud. I look over and the dog is laughing, too. It's just crazy how much hail is falling. Then just when I hit the debris (that probably caused the outage), the car starts to zig, starts to zag--it's tough to maintain control. You have to throw it into low gear, and wobble up the street, which, by now, is white with hail. This is no longer my old road. It's a rolling ice sheet, with pea-sized hail covering any traction-surface there was. That means on the street where I live "Dead-Man's Curve" will be in full-force. I determine that I won't be parking in my drive-way as a freeze is coming that night. As I pull in, Mike, the neighborhood caretaker is helping a van swerve wobbley up the hill. I hang back, and Mike walks up. "Park beside me in this driveway," he says. I back in. The van pulls up in front of me. We're all set. But, it's a slippy-slidey thing walking home. The dog loves it. But the street remains obscured with hail for hours afterward. What's next: frogs?
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It's times like these you appreciate friends like Mike who goes out of his way to help. He's a crusty guy who works at the Lazy B. I suppose every time he's lost a tooth, his heart has grown a size because he takes care of everybody. He watches houses when they're vacant. Mows lawns for the folks who're gone half the year. He's brought us wood. Takes care of pets. He's the capitol NEIGHBOR in "neighborhood." There're lots of folks in this area who huff and puff and blow and they're think they're pretty damned important. Mike keeps it going. He's the infrastructure. I try to keep a cold one for him when he's mowing the neighbor's lawn.

Walaka--I'm driving down to Redmond when, out of the blue, he calls to check up, as he'd done earlier for Farmer Scott. Keeping the available lines of communication open when the usual ones fail, that's Walaka. Farmer Scott lost power and some trees, but when I called late Saturday, he was still chain-sawing away at the fallen in the dark.

Dan "The Man"--the erstwhile director of "The Quest for the Noble Desert Poodle" had cured firewood under his deck he wanted to get rid of. I needed fire-wood. "Come and get it!" he said last week, before anybody had heard of a Thursday wind-storm. We kept in contact and arranged for Saturday pick-up. No charge for the wood. I offered a warm meal (West Seattle was out of power I'd heard) and that was what I payed. Turns out, he and his three cats did have power--but Dan was frustrated he didn't have Internet. Still, the meal was needed for both of us, the conversation brisk, and the wood's still impossibly cheap, and doubly warmth-providing for the friendship. Thanks, Dan.

My sister in Kirkland--She lost power early and still didn't have it, last I heard. Nobody could reach her and the Detroit contingent was worried. She called Friday night, worried about us--she was fine.
Hailing Frequencies always open.

Speaking of the Detroit contingent, my brother turned 60 on Saturday (Beethoven's Birthday, too). Here he is, surrounded by his prides and joys: That's Evan on the left, looking skeptical about his sister's camera actually taking a picture; Mom Jane, who we always shake our heads and say, "Wow! How was he lucky to find her?"; Paterfamilias John (he's actually taller than that); and hanging over him, the wonderfully effusive Ann. Picture taken from last Christmas over the dinner table with Ann's automatic flash. Happy Birthday, John. How could it not be?


One other friend: Pat. K's childhood chum had brain surgery to relieve an aneurysm (turns out there were three!) on Tuesday. How'd it go? Well...he's home. He went home on Thursday. He got out of ICU on Tuesday night! He's got a soft spot on his skull and a caterpillar scar going over and behind his left ear, but he's good. He's better than good, with the little bit of defenestration going on. Balance, a little iffy at times, but he's home, he's happy and we're relieved! I guess that "brain surgery" metaphor for something being difficult has to be ash-canned. Toss it! (Ka-thank!)

Attaway, Chief! Mahalo!

And it's a good thing: another long-time friend goes in for an operation this week. More on this later. I'll say early enough for positive energy to be generated.

Stay warm.