Skip to main content

Writing a Love Scene in the Time of Climate Change

That's my man muse right there. We haven't seen each other since yesterday morning (it feels so much longer, though!) because the progeny and I have been power outage refugees at my parents' house for the past 24 hours. (I earned the right to be a giant baby about this a few years ago, during the Icepocalypse of 2013/14.)

I tried to tough it out at home. There's something invigorating about weathering a storm, emptying out the fridge and stashing the food in the cold garage, stoking a raging fire in the woodstove, piling on furs and holding each other close to stay warm, lighting our home with lovely beeswax candles, and pausing to watch through the living room picture window as the big, old trees of the neighborhood bend and cast off torrents of stubborn dead leaves and broken limbs--listening to the howl and shriek of a windstorm fiercer than any ever before witnessed by a living inhabitant of the Great Lakes region--

And then your daughter starts puking up the very questionable macaroni and cheese from the mall food court, where you went slumming for a hot meal because cooking on the woodstove is easier said than done, and all other restaurants were shut down--but even in a friggin' apocalypse, the mall is half dead, and the macaroni has been sitting out all day, and you wanted to think it would be okay, but it obviously was not, and now you cannot even do laundry unless it is by hand in the bathtub, but your poor, sick child has made a nest of towels in the bathtub because the violence of her illness has made it overtiring to run the seven steps from bed to toilet, and she is curled up there, shivering, because the house is only 60 degrees despite your toiling for hours before sunrise to build a big, hot fire--

Okay, I'm admitting my addiction to the juice. I don't even go camping. Who am I kidding?

Before the mall pasta wreaked its revenge, I actually bundled up in an antique rocking chair with the picture window on one side and shelves of elegantly dripping candles on the other, trying to draft a more satisfying last chapter for my novel, longhand, in a notebook. It sounds incredibly romantic, no?

I have no idea what I wrote. I haven't looked at it yet. My hands were cold, and I only made it to the end of one page. I was sad and lonesome for my husband, as if I'd been in solitary confinement in outer space for a month instead of going through coffee and internet withdrawal for 24 hours in a hygge-stuffed suburban house.

Our power is back on now--hooray, worker dudes pulling all-nighters to do hard, dangerous things!--my phone is charged, my husband is sexting me, and I have written my Friday blog post.

Tomorrow, I'll take a look at that notebook and discover what steamy prose arose from my unplugged, windy pining.


Popular posts from this blog

35 Great Things About Turning 35

The prime of life starts at 35! It's the best-kept secret from younger people, but your 35th birthday is a major cause for celebration. For mine, I have made my own listicle of 35 reasons why experts agree that 35 is the best age to be:
You get to say, "I'm 35." The number 35 carries so much more gravitas than 30, but you're only a few years older. At 34, I've started fudging my age--by adding a year. People automatically take me seriously, and if they don't, at least they tell me I look young for my age. (Eye roll, hair toss, "whatever.")  35-year-olds DGAF. Inner chill reaches new heights at 35. Despite its #2 status on this list, it's the #1 response I hear about what's best about hitting 35. My gorgeous friend Nerlie was beautiful and resilient and wise beyond her years in high school, but now, at age 35, she gets to fully enjoy being herself on her own terms. She writes,  "I've survived so much that I don't waste time o…

A Bad Romance Starring Till Lindemann, Sophia Thomalla, Gavin Rossdale, Simone Thomalla, Sven Martinek, Andy LaPlegua, and Leila Lowfire

November 2018 Update: Sophia is settled in with Gavin a young soccer player (like mother like daughter) now, I guess, and Till is spending time with 36-year-old (hell yeah, thank you, sir) Ukrainian singer Svetlana Loboda. He is either her latest babydaddy or doing her the favor of bearding as such (not that he's great with beards, but we don't mind--we know how much he loves pregnant and lactating ladies) to help her keep some distance from her crazy ex who cuts his wrists over her. The juice continues...

To misquote Gaga, "I don't speak German, but I can look at foreign tabloids and guess what's going on if you like."

I guess it would be more professional and ladylike for me to be above this sordid celebrity gossip, but I'm not. I'm so not.

So let's see if I've got this straight. From what I gather...

Metalgod Till Lindemann, 54, and model Sophia Thomalla, 27 (upper left) recently exited a five-year, on-off, opennish relationship, which bega…

Ich Liebe Rammstein: Till

UPDATES:  In 2018, Richard has immortalized his lifelong bromance with Till in a tender duet about their friendship, "Let's Go" by Richard's side band Emigrate. Till sings words such as "Zwei Herzen in mir schlagen" with sincerity and I think I am now deceased.

After purging his sillies on the side project LINDEMANN and participating in another Rammstein documentary video, Till has begun work on a seventh Rammstein album, estimated to be released in 20172018 f*@#@#! *%&#$*! 2019 according to Peter Tagtgren

In October 2017, NatGeo released a photo book of Till's travels in the Yukon with Joey Kelly: Mein Gehasster Freund Yukon

Yukon Ho!

For fresh squeezed gossip juice, here's a bad (as in so good) romance. Till Lindemann
Till Lindemann is the only living human who could kick Chuck Norris's ass, but he doesn't, because they go on emo hunting trips together. The source of this fact, Urban Dictionary, also provides the following essential d…