2018
R. Linda:
As per usual, the weather people are predicting a storm that sounds like the end of the world is coming. Usually, panic-buying groceries and necessities in case the power goes out starts instantly at the word 'storm'. And usually, the storm of the century doesn't materialise or turns out to be a sun shower.
A big storm is coming tomorrow; right now it is sunny, lovely, and the only hint of trouble is that the wind has picked up. I be so unimpressed.
However, me neighbours are acting like civilisation has about eighteen hours left. I went down to the Genny early this morning. We had run out of bread for toast, and well, the place was hopping with villagers buying everything, including the last loaf off the shelves. I was stunned and a little bit ticked that they took all the bread. I stood in one aisle, and the milk, eggs, bottled water, batteries, and enough toilet paper to survive until Easter were GONE.
I heard the words, "Significant, rapidly deteriorating conditions, widespread outages."
I looked at them all talking at once, taking their storm stash to the counter and then I looked outside at the sunny, beautiful weather, the chirping birds, and wondered if I had entered an asylum. The TV was on, and there was a group holding their stashes huddled in front of it. I could see the colours on the weather map (actually several weather maps, because the weather people couldn't decide whether the "American model or the European model" was accurate).
I had no bread; I was annoyed more than I let on. The nerve, there they were with two or more loaves each, and I had none. They left me NONE! That meant no toast for Gabe. The villagers had it all, so I left them gabbing about the storm and went on me way. I was tempted to drive the 45 minutes to the grocery store, but I knew that place would be packed, so I went home…breadless.
"Where's the bread? Oh, did you get milk? We are all out." Tonya said.
"No, no, I did not. The bread-and-milk phenomenon was taking place at the Genny, and there was nothing left. So I left."
I looked out the window; the wind had picked up, really picked up. I watched leaves skittering across the deck and yard. The trash bin was rolling around the driveway, and I thought I should grab it before it disappeared into the woods, never to be seen again. A lawn chair by the garden started migrating toward the garden shed like it wanted to be inside for safety. But what got me cold was the squirrel. Our resident 'Freddie the Squirrel' sat on the deck railing, looking at me side-eyed. His fur blew in the wind, and his nose crinkled as if he could smell something wicked coming.
"Nah," I said to meself. I've lived through so many of these false alarms that I don't believe the weather people…however, I do trust that squirrel. I looked past Fred, and the birds were not at the feeders; even the chipmunk was gone to ground.
"Huh!" I said, looking out the window, watching Freddie watch me out of the corner of his eye. His little hands were tucked into the fur on his chest; his tail had been curved at the end, but now it stood straight up like a scary-cat, or a barometer. "What are you telling me, Freds me, man?" I asked quietly, more to meself than Freddie.
Tonya had come back into the kitchen.
"I sent O'Hare to the grocery store. Maybe there's bread left, I dunno, but he's willing to go, so…"
She looked out the window and mused that we should rescue the lawn furniture; it looked like the wind was redecorating the garden sitting area.
Tonya was taking this more seriously than I was. I looked one last time outside at the blue bell sky and noticed Mr Freddie was no longer in residence on the railing. He was gone, outta there! Uh oh.
Tonya and I got the furniture into the shed; I rescued the trash bin and put it in the garage.
Meanwhile, Mam was busy charging phones, filling the bathtub with water (an old habit) and putting out flashlights and candles, all stuff we didn't need because we have a full house generator. Her reaction to me telling her none of that was needed: "Well, just in case."
Mam had the telly on. It was blaring about the coming disastrous storm. I looked outside, and there was Fred; yes, he had reappeared in the kitchen garden window eating spilt birdseed. The rate of eating made me think that if he ate all that seed, he'd explode. I walked over to the window and said to him, though he couldn't hear or understand me, "YOU are either very scared about this storm or you are in competition with Mr Chips."
He ignored me, gathering leftover birdseed from the tray where the birds usually alight.
"I tell ya there, Fred, your cheeks will burst if ya keep that up," I said, laughing at him, thinking to meself, Oh, for God's sake, he isn't predicting Armageddon. He's just a greedy squirrel. That's when he stopped and turned full face toward me on the other side of the window. Uh-oh, I thought. It was like a flash; he launched himself at the screen, making me step back from the window and chattered at me the best he could with all that food stuffed in his mouth. Then, as quick as that, he jumped off the tray and disappeared.
The family secured the house while I stood at the window, looking for that damn squirrel. Was he trying to tell me something? I went outside; the wind caught the screen door and practically took it off its hinges. There was that distinct groan the trees make at their tops, while everything at ground level feels deserted.
No squirrel in sight; actually, nothing in sight, just the wind.
Gabe
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