Ice, ice baby

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” ― Edith Sitwell

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” 
― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

AUBURN, Maine — Those demented souls, who are still holding out for a white Christmas or want to go walking in a  winter wonderland should visit the Pine Tree State, which is now freeze-dried thanks to a three-day ice storm which has pulled the plug on 100 hundred towns across the state. 

There is nearly an inch of ice on wilting limbs, and we all know how that goes — badly. 

If you want to take your chances on I-95 and don't mind bouncing off guard rails as you slide up the interstate, bring your skates or a dog sled. Everything has been coated with dangerous, solid ice. You can take in spectacular views of trees bowing to Mother Nature and electrical fires as limbs come crashing down on droopy wires. For more spectacular views, you might see transformers bursting like the rockets red glare and witness neighborhoods descend into darkness.

The police scanner is alive with mayhem. Numerous reports of limbs and downed wires are keeping police and fire departments rushing through the snow on eight-cylinder cruisers. There is no rest for weary Central Maine Power crews who have the nerve to repair power lines in the cold, damp dark.

Right now, there are 30,000 of us sitting in the cold dark and shouting obscenities that can be heard for miles around central Maine. A passing Central Maine Power truck brings us to the window and hope. The F-word is the  adjective of the day. Sentences contain three or four of the most reviled word in obscenity's lexicon. We have been stuck indoors for nearly 48 hours as we tend to our wood stoves and generators. 

You take your life into your own hands when you walk to the car or go shopping. My walkway is a miniature ice rink without a Zamboni.

If you are driving, keep an eye for downed wires and remember no power line is safe to touch — ever! Central Maine Power has been reminding Mainers of the dangers of touching a power line for years. 

No kidding! Thanks for the tip!

I am witnessing my second ice storm in the Pine Tree State. In 1998, the rented house I was living in went dark for nearly five days. This family of three was offered a place to stay in front of a warm fireplace at a friend's home for the night. We woke up early and returned to our house, which now resembled an igloo surrounded by sheets of ice.

My son was two years old, and I wasn't about to risk his health. It was time to retreat and live to fight another day with my shovel and rock salt.

That's when we decided to abandon the place and headed down a dangerous I-95. We were like refugees as we fled the cold and ice. My mother, who is no longer alive, opened the door that morning. Her jaw dropped and her eyes nearly popped out her head when she saw us on her doorstep. This family of three was seeking warmth and a hot meal.

That night, I was called back up to Maine to put out the Sun Journal. For the first time in the paper's history, we could not get the newspaper out the night before when the ice storm got its icy hands around the Pine Tree State.

In just 18 hours, I traveled back and forth to Maine to get the edition out on the streets, logging some 470 miles. 

Two days later, the landlord had the rented house up and running with generator. There was heat in the building.

Today, the ice storm of 2013 is like '98's kid brother. It isn't spectacular and we have only lost power three times for about three hours. It is not a bust, though. The city of Bangor might not get power back for nearly a week.

We have been lucky in the Lewiston-Auburn area. Let's just hope Santa won't slide off a roof and hita tree during each rooftop landing. I hate to see the cherubic fellow injure himself on that special night.

The lights are on at my home in Auburn, but all that could change with the drop of a limb.

The 12 Essays of Christmas Eve, Day 11: Christmas Eve

“Christmas is not as much about opening our presents as opening our hearts.”                                                                                                                               ― Janice Maeditere

AUBURN, Maine - I can point out the location of every bathroom on the Maine turnpike. That's important for a weary traveler to know after having a cup of coffee. 

I really do know every nook and cranny of this well-traveled highway.

Interstate 95 was the avenue I traveled every Christmas Eve to spend Christmas with my relatives in Revere for nearly quarter of a century.

We would spend an entire morning loading the car with presents and food. We sped off down the road for a two-hour trek, listening to Christmas music along the way.

Through the years, we battled snowstorms to reach our destiny. Nothing would stop us from spending the holiday with family.

Was it all worth it. Absolutely! I understand nothing lasts in this life, and every opportunity I got to be with the people I love during the holiday made our two-hour trip feel like two minutes.

But things changed. We brought a wonderful young man into the world, we got older, and people we loved passed away. We bought a house and established our roots in city located about 130 miles north of Boston.

We have been put through the ringer the last three years, with deaths and sickness that made our lives quite difficult. We haven't spent the last three holidays in the Boston area due to these tumultuous moments in our lives.

I was graciously invited to my sisters again for the holiday. She does a good job of entertaining family and guests, and it was kind of her to think of us.

But we remained at home again in the snowy foothills of Maine. My son wanted to wake up in the house on Christmas morning.

He is older and still enjoys our company. We are lucky.

I hope he continues to walk the strait and narrow without losing his balance. But if he falls, mom and dad will be there for him.

That's what parents do, and I like to think we do it well.

This Christmas eve, we continued on with one tradition, revived another, and started a new one.

I made the my mouth-watering shrimp linguine, but something wonderful happened in the kitchen — Anthony volunteered to help. And so we sat, the two of us peeling shrimp and talking about everything.

He worships my cooking and I enjoy watching my family enjoy my culinary talents.

After we had our fill of shrimp and pasta, we went out into the cold, dark night and lit a bunch of sparklers that had been laying around the house. We interrupted the quiet evening with our bright flares and endless laughter.

We do a lot of laughing and hugging in this family to preserve our sanity.

Later that evening, Anthony suggested taking a ride around the city to check out the Christmas lights. All of a sudden I was reminded of my parents who took us on a tour around the Greater Boston area see homes lit up like Roman candles.

My son came in the parlor to hug me and wished me goodnight.

I was watching the Mormon Tabernacle Choir perform Christmas music on Public Television.

"What about George Bailey," asked Anthony? "Aren't you worried about old George?"

"It's a Wonderful Life" was playing on another channel, but I switched it to listen to those angelic voices of the Tabernacle choir.

"George will be just fine," I told my son."And you will be just fine, too."