Home Alone Pt. I

I’ve been snowed in for 48 hours now, and I’m about to summon the enthusiasm to put chains on and attempt navigate down this steep icy hill we live on.

If anyone wonders why we get so stuck here in the Seattle area, here's why:


 
R. bailed at the first sign of snow, and took refuge at a lower elevation, leaving me home alone.

On the one hand, it’s kind of fun and relaxing, and I’ve had a chance to start a new writing project, walk down to the falls, and nap a lot.  On the other hand, it’s a bit lonely, and it feels like a preview of what it will be like to live up here when I’m old and have no where to go and am too chicken to drive in any sort of weather or darkness.

R. has memories, I’m sure, of being stuck up here without power for 12 days during the big windstorm, so I don’t really blame him for his escape.  We probably have pretty different views on how it was. Me:  I thought it was fun.  Both kids captive, no distratctions. 

I divided the day into three parts:  Morning Health and Santitation, during which we’d heat water on the wood stove to do dishes, bathe a little, and do wound dressing.  There were no wounds, but had there been, they most definitely would have been addressed during Morning Health and Sanitation time. 

After Morning Health and Sanitation was Afternoon Fitness and Recreation, during which you could go on a hike, split wood, do yoga, or read.  This was followed by Evening Community Time, when we could cook together and play games.  I can’t understand why the young people weren’t as thrilled as I was.

So it’s really not as fun being snowed in without the young people around -- M. in Central America and R. at a slightly lower elevation.  This morning I receive a text message on my phone from an unknown number, “Morning!”

“Uh, yes, it is morning.  Wrong number?” I reply.  I wouldn’t have replied at all had I not been a little bored and under-engaged with the world at large.

“Oh really? This is Rob.  Who’s this?”

“Betsy.  I don’t know a Rob.”  (I know.)

“Oh.  Hi Betsy.”

“Um, that’s not how a wrong number goes.”

“Lol.  How does a wrong number go?  Should I send a picture?”

I was hoping to get an interesting blog post out of the whole thing, but once someone uses “lol”, I can’t continue even the simplest wrong number conversation.

But for the rest of you, here’s how a wrong number goes:
 
“I think you have the wrong number.”

“Oh!  Thanks for letting me know; sorry to bother you.”

Okay, I will now slap chains on my trusty scion and see what’s going on out in the world, and get some ingredients to make a million pies.  Or at least two.  Hopefully something interesting is happening out there.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.