Last week when I was hiking in the Himalayas, I learned that Old Maslow was right. Physiological needs must be met first… because everything else pales in comparison. Truth be told, I wasn’t exploring the foothills of Mount Everest, I was home, in Houston, Texas. A place whose normal high temperature is 65 degrees Fahrenheit for February, but where it was instead, an icy 12 degrees. As we raced around days before, painstakingly wrapping external pipes, picking all the lemons and grapefruits off our trees, wrapping plants and worrying about their potential demise over several freezing days, never, I mean never, did I think we should be worrying about ourselves!
The cold forecast annoyed me. I had lived in NJ for 30 years; I know the cold is no picnic. But the rare prospect of snow (in Houston!) was exciting and fun. And I should have known, from my days in NJ, snow is only “fun” for about 5 minutes. That is, until it starts to affect your life. Snow in Houston is no different, it’s worse. Even then, we could not resist going out to play. I captured pictures of my frozen flowers. Little did I know, they were the least of my worries. The morning of the snowfall, just after 8 am, we lost power.
Even after our snowy playtime outside, our power had not returned. But I wasn’t worried. Sure, we’ve lost power before. Not often enough where it felt like a pain… more like an adventure, a way of skipping school and email, a reason to dilly-dally before being at home was a way of life pre-Covid. It was unexpected family time. When we lost power in the past, it was unique but not threatening. As rains would stop, after an hour, or even a day or two during a hurricane, power would return. It was a hassle but never scary.
This Time is Different
As the temperatures plummeted around us, and the minutes became hours, and the hours became days, losing power wasn’t a way of relaxing without devices. Instead, I was inside the first level of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. We needed heat and water. Without any power, access to our water was also cut off. Still, we stayed overnight in our house, thinking, of course, the power will come back… it’s 12 degrees outside! It didn’t. When we awoke, our house temperature was down to 58 degrees. At that time, we were lucky enough to go to a friend’s who had power (and some running water).
Unbeknownst to us, when the power returned the next day, some 48+ hours later, the rush of cold air had already caused secondary damage. Instead of coming home to a warm house, we beheld a waterfall from the second floor. Walking through the house, we stepped into inches of water. Upon closer examination, an entire ceiling had collapsed in my son’s closet. His entire wardrobe was bathed in insulation, wet from the cascade of water all around it.
After hours and days of subzero temperatures, sporadic access to heat and water, and only the continual warmth of electronic hugs from worried family and friends, we now begged and prayed for a plumber. Countless referrals were made by neighbors, all suffering from the same consequences. In the meantime, we did our best to slop up the frigid water with an endless supply of frozen towels and a shopvac ourselves. We waited for a plumber. And then, our power went out again.
It was still well below freezing outside. When we finally were done cleaning up the mess in our sons’ rooms, by some miracle, a plumber showed up, at 9:30 pm. He worked in pitch black to fix both of our leaks. Of course, there was no way to test his handiwork with no power. Still, we were hopeful. We were cold. We were tired.
Camping Anyone?
Our living room had become our haven, a place where we had heat from a gas fireplace, the only thing that stood bright when the darkness closed around us. Just like before, we sat, all four of us, and our dog huddled in the makeshift bed I made across from the gas fireplace, ready to spend day 3 in the camping trip I never asked for. Even then, I fell asleep in the unromantic candlelit room because I could, after all, dream of being warm.
Close to midnight, my husband said, “Roopal, open your eyes.” I did and almost did not believe the lights I saw around me. Power had returned. We sprang up as if zapped by electricity ourselves! Immediately, we tested our pipes. The repairs held! One by one, we showered, dropping into the bliss that only a hot shower can deliver after the frigid cold.
Afterward, though we had access to all our devices and all the magic that power can deliver, we arrived, all four of us, back to our living room, just to sit there. Just to be together. Just to be thankful. It was telling that we all ended up back there… the crackling fire still soothing every chilly vein. Because we no longer knew what to do with ourselves. We were numb, from the cold, from the experience, from the ridiculousness of it all. Because we never went hiking in the Himalayas, or Alaska, and yet somehow it felt like it, in February, in Texas.