Let Go, Brandon!
Sometimes you just need a break from the cold and the hate.
Chilled by the Storm of '23, our house is so frigid, butter freezes on the counter near the toaster. We escape to a local casino coffee shop, a Nevada town's warm-up shelter with full menu. A few others have the same idea. We all ventured out on ice-clogged streets to find a couple of hours of relief.
In that space that usually thunders against the ears at dinnertime, voices are muted. Coffee cups bring back feeling to numbed fingers. The waitress is grateful we came out to eat that night. She'd been holed up for a week, sick with the latest bug and a rambunctious toddler.
"I need the money and it's hard to tell who will show up so it's worthwhile enough to come in to work."
As our hot soup arrives, the elderly couple rises from the next booth. We nod hello and they come over, start to chat as if they haven't seen humans in a long time. In red letters, Let's Go Brandon blazes across the old man's cap. I'm surprised at how little I care. Usually my whole body clenches, anticipating a surly discussion to follow.
He tells us about family history in the valley, about his mother moving from down south and seeing snow for the first time. How the snow built up around their house, the ordeal of digging out that we all shared this week. How they've been using an old percolating coffee pot on a Coleman camp stove since their power went out days ago. I remember how hypnotizing it was to watch the water bubble into the glass knob on top of the pot, slowly turning from clear to coffee.
We were able to get in a word here and there that we shared the same problems. For the first time in the years since moving off the hill, we needed to shovel two feet of snow from the driveway that morning. At least our gas stove worked, but the furnace and gas fireplace failed at the same time. Why now, we will never understand. Just a little thump from the gods to remind us we've enjoyed prosperity long enough.
Then we run out of things say. They nod goodbye and shuffle toward the door. It was the first conversation we've had in three years that didn't cause my glasses to fog up. Maybe the storms are putting a damper on tempers as well as filling up the aquifers. Maybe people are getting weary of suspecting their neighbors of evil intent. Maybe, after a year of isolation and fear-mongering, the people in our little slice of America just want to get out of the house and connect with other people. Enjoy the flashing lights and clamor of the casino instead of the blather on television.
It's only the first week in January and more storms are predicted. It will be one of those winters. It's good to know that, despite the political rage of recent years, there is still a cafe that's always open and safe and warm.
That sounds like an oops😬
In my duplex, living in the upper floor since heat rises, I had a natural gas fireplace with a pilot light, even in a power outage that would shut off the furnace in the basement I had heat. I bought that intentionally for that reason.