A Long Winter

Several years later, George is married and he and his wife are having an unpleasant winter:

It was winter, the worst winter we had ever seen. One blizzard after another hit us.

The blizzards would rage for a few days, then we'd have a reprieve for a couple of days, then another blizzard raged around us.

Snow was piled everywhere, smothering, blanketing, breaking roofs. The wind blew hard and cold; very cold. It blew down trees, fences, and sheds

Our phone didn't work, there was no electricity, and we just suffered from the cold.

We didn't know for sure why there was no electricity. Maybe the fierce winds blew down the power lines or something. Maybe the repair crews had trouble making repairs because of the blizzards. Without a phone or TV we couldn't find out.

Most of the houses in our neighborhood were intact but standing empty. They weren't empty because of damage from an earthquake or anything like that. They had been foreclosed on and the people evicted.

Many houses were repossessed because of the terrible economy. There were a few families in the neighborhood still living in their homes. For the most part, the neighborhood was empty of inhabitants.

It was March and yet the blizzards kept coming. What happened to Spring?

We were so very cold. We had some kind of a wood stove and tried to get the thing to put out as much heat as possible. We really didn't know how to work it. We purchased it two years ago but never learned to use it.

All of a sudden, part of the roof collapsed from the weight of the snow. I could look out the hole and see the sky. The wind and the snow were blowing into our house making it impossible to keep warm.

I looked at my husband and cried, "George, what do we do now? How are we supposed to stay warm?"

He said, "We'll just have to move into one of the empty houses until we can figure out a way to fix our roof." And we did.

The house next door had a pitched roof, much steeper than ours. It hadn't collapsed. The snow just slid right off into drifts that now covered the windows.

While George dug a tunnel to the back door of the empty house, I bundled up little Matt. He protested that he could "do it himself'" and finished zipping up his parka and lacing his boots.

George returned, exhausted. He collapsed into an easy chair, breathing heavily. "Need to rest a few minutes," he said. "Then I'll finish. Glad it's that light powder snow."

I put my arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "I love you, George. We'll be O.K."