I was supposed to be on the road by now, making my way into Indianapolis as I write this.
Even the best laid plans often get completely fudged up!
It all started early in the morning sometime ... and by early, I mean, before God gets up. I was awakened by an incessant beeping. I didn't know what it was, and I wasn't too interested in investigating what it was, being that I was still half asleep. So, I let it beep. Except, then I was all the way awake and didn't get much sleep. I should have investigated.
By 7 a.m., my dad was in the shower, and my mother was out making coffee, doing breakfast, and being completely frustrated by the power. "It keeps flickering. The battery back up on the computer is beeping."
Solution to the beeping mystery.
It was at that point things got really crazy and awfully surreal. The lights dimmed to hardly anything, and then, well, let's just say it ended in my mother screaming, "OH NO!" and my dad screaming, "SHIT!" in stereo as appliances began to blow.
[my apologies to anyone offended by the questionable language, but, seriously, had you been there, you would have said the same thing!]
The cacophony of shouts mingled with the smell of burning electrical wires sent everyone into a flurry of running, some of us in various forms of dress and undress. I think, should a video replay of the events leading up to the "CALL 911! There are flames and smoke in my oven!" be played back, it would definitely reveal a comic scene, complete with my father running around in his BVDs.
My mother shouted that the fire department was coming, and she wasn't even wearing a bra. To which I replied, "Mother, whenever there's a crisis, that's the first thing I make sure I have on. A tornado can suck me up in its vortex, but, rest assured, there will be a bra on my lifeless body."
I think this will make her rethink how she takes her clothes off at night now.
The fire department did show up ... three volunteer guys in various pick up trucks, and the big fire truck, complete with flashing lights ... nine guys in all, decked out in their turn-out gear, ready to tromp through my parents' home, dragging all the rain-soaked crap from the driveway in on their boots.
Oh, did I mention the big fire truck's lights? Lit the whole neighborhood up like a Christmas tree. The caddy old lady down the road will be talking about this for weeks, I'm sure. For countless bridge games to come, she'll be yapping about the excitement down the road at the Murray's. Nothing gets by the folks in this small town.
My parents know how to do a trip up right. I spend a week and a half here, and they save the morning I'm to leave to unleash all the excitement.
Turns out that trees hanging on the neutral line out at the road's edge was the culprit. In its wake, the power surges killed a double oven, three TVs, a VCR or two, a CD player, and an HDTV converter box.
It could have been the whole house, so I think we're all counting ourselves lucky. Plus, as I reminded them, "this is going to make an incredible couple of blogs."
"Great," my mother mumbled disgusted.