Male pride and testosterone made sure my husband left the house for work this morning despite warnings from the constabulary to stay off of the roads. Heaven forbid another colleague snort that his commute was twice as far but he still made it in. I like to tease that as long as my husband's insurance policy is paid up he can do what he likes but wouldn't that be an awful set of parting words should the worse happen?
Putting the kettle on and settling onto the sofa with my electric blanket I thought about the atmospheric day ahead. There was something reassuring about being housebound during a time of year when rushing about is the order of the day. Then a few beeps and flickers happened all at once and The Heiress and I stood staring at each other with only the sound of freezing rain and birds chirping at the feeder in the background. I'm not sure whether it was more ridiculous or frightening that my first thought was to grab the laptop and settle in. No electricity...no wifi....no laptop; ugh. My next truly frightening thought was that my electric blanket (so lovely for melting into while blissfully reading in a lazy stupor) was to remain stone cold. I will adapt, I will adapt, I will, I will....
Thank heavens I've gone to bed over the past four nights watching episodes of Tudor Monastery Farm on my iPod. Creating a roaring blaze in the fireplace is usually a task my husband claims as his own but thanks to Ruth Goodman and her flint I was more than educated. Ever resourceful, I poured some tea into my second-best teapot and placed it inside the mouth of the fireplace, cuddled up to the grill full of fiery logs. Then a phone call was placed to my elderly neighbours inviting them over should they feel the chill but their son was on his way to collect them.
With the ottoman pulled up close to the heat of the fire I read the last few pages of Jambusters by Julie Summers about the Women's Institute and began an Elizabeth Bowen book. The thought that Armageddon couldn't be far behind a day without a hot pot of tea, hot buttered toast, and a useless electric blanket made me realize how ridiculous it is to eke out my favourite author's books. Funnily enough, the thought of my laundry day turning into a big dud didn't worry me in the slightest!
Just when I was feeling like a comrade-in-arms with those ladies from the WI during World War II, ready to haul water and prepare dinner in a haybox, the stove beeped, the lamp came on and my electric blanket's red light shone like a beacon. The Heiress called while out on a walk. A woman down the street is on the verge of tears as a tree from her front lawn is blocking the road and all around is the sound of sirens, most likely rushing to car accidents. Today is both beautiful and scary.