Nurturing my inner... best of a bad situation

It's cold outside.  I'm sure you didn't need me to tell you that.  I am grateful that here we're only getting rain.  My mother, up in New England, is getting just pommeled with snow, snow and more snow!  I've heard of several barnes collapsing under the weight of the frozen precipitation.  They can't catch a break between storms to see any melting yet this year.  She even had to hire some guys to rake the three feet of snow off the roof, and get the ice out of the gutters, because water was leaking into the house.  I feel so bad that I'm not up there to help her.  Yet I've learned, no matter how much we want to, we can never be there for someone all the time.

However, I was up there for a few weeks in December.  For some of the first storms of the year.  And the first time she had lost power in some time.  I'm glad I was around for that.

It started at 2:00 am the morning after Christmas.  I noticed the air purifier I use as a white noise machine (and which doubles as - obviously - a way to purify the air of allergens) shut off and woke me up.  As I turned my head to look at the clock radio, I quickly realized that it was pitch black in the room.  No digital numbers to be found anywhere.  When you're in the country up in Bethany, and you have well water, there are certain problems when the power goes out.  One of which is that you can only flush the toilet once!  (Hello log cabin?)  And you lose your running water.

We got up around 7:00 am to the power still being out.  And the inside temperature dropping.  By 10:00 am, it was in the 40s inside the house.  Mom and I bundled up in two layers of pj/sweat bottoms, three tops, a hoodie, mittens and two blankets.  It was definitely a prairie moment.  Only the pioneers had fireplaces they actually used.  Mom hasn't lit a fire in either of the two fire places we have in the house, um, ever.  And though the temperature threatened to dip into the 30s inside the house and cement our sudden doom, she wasn't planning on changing her policy that day.  My future as a 5' 9" Popsicle was entirely possible.

Mom bundled up like a human burrito.
And my revenge shot for not allowing
me to make a toasty, warm fire.

Looking back, it was actually kind of fun.  Bundled up like Eskimos, feet of snow outside, only some natural light through the windows, no TV for entertainment, no stove to cook.  We sat on the sofa together and read our books.  We ate cereal for breakfast and tuna sandwiches for lunch.  Not very exciting, but at least we were together.  Letting life slow down for a minute.  Or more like life making us slow down for a minute.

Twelve total hours later, the power came back on.  (Hallelujah chorus abounds!)  And I was ready for something warm.  To go with the hot tea we put on immediately.

I had some chestnuts that I wanted to roast.  We know the "open fire" part was not going to happen from our earlier lack of exercising that option for crucial life survival, so "chestnuts roasting in a close electric oven" would have to do.  (I wouldn't change the official song lyrics just quite yet.)

Gorgeous dark color.

My dad used to like roasting chestnuts.  I'm sure they reminded him of the simpler days of his youth.  And it's easy.  They have a natural flat side.  So that side goes down.

Bottom's up. Must flip.

I put the domed side up, took a sharp knife and made an "x" or a cross.  The shell would split when cooking anyway, but I'm pretty sure this is so they don't explode all over the inside of the oven.

Two strokes.

I marked the eight chestnuts I purchased and laid them flat in an aluminum pan.

Can't have them rolling around in the oven.

I turned the electric oven on to 400 degrees.

Seemed like as good a temperature as any.

In they went for about 30 minutes or so, until they were cooked.  (I'm sure anywhere from 30 - 40 minutes will do, depending on the size of the chestnuts.)

They split. On their own.

The heat causes the inside to expand and the outside shell to shrink and peel back, exposing the delicious center.

Conveniently half-opened already.
The oven did its job.

Once they cooled down so I could touch them without burning my hands, (learned hard way), I peeled them.

They look like tiny brains. What? It's true.

While they were still warm, my mom and I broke them open and they were perfect for eating as is.  All steamy.  And the flavor was just magnificent.  Tender and nutty.  Very creamy in texture.  I remembered why my dad enjoyed them so much.

Old fashioned winter treat. No additives.

My mom is stuck in the snow, again, while I'm here in the much easier to handle rain.  For some reason, I feel guilty.  I wish I could be up there to help shovel her out or just keep her company.  (I offered to drive home yesterday and beat this next storm, but she said not to.)  I know it's hard to have something going wrong with the house and feel like no one is there to help you.  I suspect these are the kind of times when she misses my father the most.  We talk several times a day though, so I know she's okay for now.  No more power outages.  And her neighbors of over 40 years check in on her and invite her over for breakfast or lunch, so she can have some company every couple of days.  (God bless kind neighbors who care for the lonely and alone.)

We still laugh and think fondly of that day, believe it or not.  How we made the best of a snowy, powerless, heatless, electronic deviceless, particularly slow moving twelve hours.  We had lots of blankets, plenty of books and the company of each other.

When challenging circumstances come about that rattle us, we need to try and focus on little, positive things.  (If chattering teeth don't get the best of you!)  A rough patch in life doesn't seem quite as bad when you have someone to weather the storm with you.