How bad can it be?

    It's Saturday afternoon. I just woke up from a nap, and the house is quiet. Lenny is upstairs reading. I can hear Happy snoring in the next room. After a rough week, things are again as they should be.

    We moved to the Puget Sound area thirty years ago this autumn. On the evening that we arrived in Redmond at the home of our friends Jim and Becky Darland, there was a thunderstorm. We had only been married for a year, so it was exciting and a little romantic to huddle in front of their fireplace while a storm raged outside. Jim and Becky were Lenny's friends, and I was looking forward to getting to know them. I was also looking forward to living in this green mansion, this place called Seattle that was so utterly different from the arid high elevations of the Rockies where I had been raised. I was fascinated by the ferns that grew beneath every tree. There was water everywhere.

    I have to admit that the first couple of years were rough. In Montana we had severe weather, but between storms, the sky was as blue as my mother's eyes. I could not imagine sunless days, so I didn't believe that it could happen. Besides, I was there with my beloved. How bad could it be?

    We had one winter that was particularly bad. Weeks of drizzle and grey were capped off with snow that paralyzed the area. It was the first time I had ever been stranded by a snow storm. It was different here. The snow dumped all at once on top of streets that were glazed with ice. It was nearly impossible to drive. And the hills! Even if we were able to gain a little traction for a run up a hill, the yahoo in front of us would spin out and block the road. Instead of park-n-ride, it was park-n-walk. Or park-n-slip-n-slide.

    Natives told us that it was an unusually bad winter, and for the next several years, we enjoyed a sunny fall, followed by a mild winter, and a drizzly spring. We have had some dandy snow storms, and memorable winds, but the last few winters were meek and mild. Until 2006. Upon hearing each forecast of impending weather calamity, I thought, "how bad can it be?" And as each storm rolled through, I found an answer.

    My friend Diana called me on Thursday to say that she was pretty sure she saw an elephant blow past her window. Her power only flickered, but ours went out with the first breeze. After 27 hours, three thunder storms, hail, and A River Running Through Finn Hill, the power was restored. There was a good deal of whooping and hollering when the lights came on.

    You probably expect me to end this by reminding myself and my readers that it could be worse: that most citizens of war-torn Iraq only have one hour of electricity each day, that there are displaced people all over the world living in tents without water or electricity, and that people who live under a bridge would be happy to be sitting in front of a fireplace reading a book. You probably expect me to point out that the reason it is so beautiful here with ferns and firs and photinia is because of the precipitation, and that people in drought-plagued areas of California and Georgia would stand in the rain and rejoice.

    Well, you are right. I do remind myself of those facts. But I think I've also learned not to ask, "How bad can it be?" I really don't want to know.