the storm

It was a bright, temperate day as Spoke and I drove down Mockingbird Lane to catch a film at Angelika.  Little traffic made for a quick drive and we were settled into our top row seats before the previews started.  That can be a good thing or a bad thing I’ve come to think; good if the previews are new to you, bad if you must sit through them again, your small bag of popcorn half consumed before the feature begins.

I was looking forward to this one--- set in Paris!  Our post movie dinner plans would be based around croissants in the freezer and I was waiting to see if the film leaned us toward soup and salade or fines herbs omelets.  Either would be fine with me.  

When it was over, I'd wished for more sights of the city and its cuisine, but we left content and in awe of the acting.  Pulling out of the covered garage parking lot, we entered into what was, we thought, a typical Dallas afternoon storm.  It took only a couple of blocks for the severity to hit us.  Lightning was scary and winds were fierce, blowing rain sideways and taking metal signs along.  The light at Greenville Avenue made us thankful for the long city bus on our right which blocked the east moving winds.  Most stoplights were out, there was debris everywhere, crape myrtles were uprooted and one huge tree blocked the entire three lane street forcing us to drive up over the curb and across someone’s manicured yard.  Trees lay toppled across many home roofs.

  

We were lucky and feeling blessed by the time we’d detoured, able to pull onto our street and see the two huge trees still standing front and back at our house.  We love these trees.  They are our shade in summer and our rustling leaves in autumn.
 

Six hours later our electricity was not yet on, quite understandable considering the widespread damage.  I rather liked the evening, liked being forced into creative submission; a flashlight, pen and paper became my entertainment.  I studied the interesting shadows on the walls.  

It was canned tuna for dinner without complaint.  From our dark bedroom, several hours earlier than our usual, Spoke and I listened for owls but they were mute in the eerie quiet of the still night.  We played word games, waiting for a breeze, any brief breeze.  I fell asleep before Spoke gave me his ten syllable word beginning with the letter “l”. . .  

Seventeen hours from the hit, chainsaws were heard all around.  Friday's morning paper reports winds were up to ninety miles per hour and a quarter of a million people are without power.  I go into the kitchen to make my morning cappuccino, the act providing our first laugh of the day.  I drink water instead.  

By evening, the hassle of the past twenty-seven hours is diminished with the flick of a switch.  We have power!

  
Today there's tremendous yard clean-up to be done, the refrigerator and freezers need to be cleaned out.  Most of the bounty in the full freezer has fared well and I am thankful for it, especially the still frozen pesto which was painstakingly made by mortar and pestle.  This was a prolific summer for basil, yielding two large batches which filled numerous jars with pesto and more to be made soon.  

With the oven working again, tonight we'll finally enjoy those croissants.  I'll heat them; crisp on the outside with flaky layers inside.  We will have them with soup and salade.