I love a good crisis

The evening of September 7, 1996 was hot and muggy. I know this because it was the day after Hurricane Fran blew through Raleigh and blew out our electricity. Six trees had fallen in our yard and we had a freezer full of food that would defrost within hours, but my eight-months-pregnant self was focused on just one thing: how would I live without air conditioning? (Note: I will only entertain accusations that I’m weak and spoiled from women who have carried a 10-pound baby to term somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line.)

Despite my misery, I was a little sad a few days later when our lights flickered and then glowed steadily. I adjusted the thermostat to “arctic freeze,” went from room to room shutting windows and then went out to the porch to gather up dirty glasses and a few stray napkins. Each evening, after a day of cutting and stacking fallen trees and clearing branches from someone’s yard, my neighbors had brought over random food items plucked from coolers of quickly melting ice to cook on my stove, the only gas stove in our section of the neighborhood. We’d gather on the porch hoping for a breeze, laughing and eating. Our dinners consisted of crazy combinations – beef stew and quiche anyone? – but we didn’t care. We were having too much fun.

The kids would eat quickly so they could play kickball and chase fireflies. We adults lingered over dinner, truly grateful for an ice cold beer in the sticky heat. There were no TV shows or video games to rush home to, and we sat out there long after the moon rose each night.

When the electricity came back on, life went back to normal. Which meant everyone went back into their carefully sealed, energy-efficient homes and ate normal dinners alone with their families. Pooh.

It may be a sign of my dysfunctional ways, but I like it when “crises” shake things up. When things are humming along, we take everything for granted. When things get a little tough, people reach out to one another. Due to the economic meltdown, many workaholics are discovering that most business relationships are just that. When you get laid off, your boss may be sympathetic, but she will quickly turn her attention to righting the ship. It’s the people at home who will help you pick up the pieces. That’s a hard time to realize you’ve been neglecting your family and friends in favor of projects and presentations.

All of a sudden, that plasma TV you bought on credit seems like a bad idea, and putting a pork loin in the crock-pot after breakfast seems like a good one. Instead of going out to dinner and a movie, you invite a few friends in for pizza and a rental. You cut down on the kids’ activities and spend a few afternoons playing Frisbee and going for a bike ride.

My husband was laid off last week, setting off an inevitable chain of events that includes a leaky pipe, expensive root canal and car trouble. So I put a pork loin in the crock-pot this morning, packed my lunch and planned a potluck with some neighbors this weekend. And someday I’ll look back to this time in my life the same way I look back at the aftermath of Fran – fondly.

Photo courtesy of ThatMitchGuy