Dear That's Life 3/9/2010

Well, it huffed and it puffed and it blew my fence down. And tossed around my barbeque like a Tinkertoy. And took out my power. And broke the tree limb above my car and, yes, gravity works just fine (...Chad gad’ya, chad gad’ya).

Trust me, I’m not complaining. We suffered no irreparable damage from the storm; many people had much worse and we are all just fine. When the tree on our curb split and the limb came crashing down on my car, we all heard the snap and saw it fall. One of my children was incredibly frightened and began to cry. “Your car!” she screamed, as I held her tight and told her it was just a car — only for my eldest child to chime in, “That’s why we have insurance.”

With about twenty minutes left to Shabbos and no power, we sat in the den, just trying to keep track of where we all were. My son (the Zionist) decided we should play a game. “Let’s play ‘I Spy,’” he said to my husband, and continued with, “I spy with my little eye...” only for my husband cut him off and quickly respond, “dark.”

Like many trees in the area, the one in front of my house was vertical before Shabbos. That was then. By the time Sunday morning came around, the sidewalk had been lifted up by the roots of the tree that was then precariously laying across a series of wires connected to a nearby pole, that seemed like it was going to fall at any minute. “If you don’t take care of that soon,” someone said to me, “we’re all going to lose power.” Right, I thought. I had already figured that out. Having already called every emergency number we could get our hands on including 911, we thought we were going to have to just wait, see and pray.

Until I saw a cherry picker coming down our block.

I ran out of my house and started to wave down the driver. He rolled down his window and looked at me. “Want a cup of coffee?” I offered, to no response. Okay, let’s try Plan B. “See that tree?” I said, pointing to the culprit. “It’s going to fall and take all of those lines and that pole with it.” He pulled the truck over and got out to take a look. “I’m not really allowed to do this,” he explained. “We are on our way to Island Park.”

But as he got closer, he realized I wasn’t kidding. And just like that, we moved to the top of the totem pole as he called in the emergency and told the base he was going to be late getting to Island Park. “This is a disaster waiting to happen,” he said, at which point I looked at him and said, “So now can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

For the next two and a half hours, Frankie and Ernesto took down the tree while my children watched from inside. It was a bittersweet moment — I had not planted that tree but we all enjoy the foliage and the change in seasons.

“If you chop down all of the trees,” said my son in an accusatory tone, “we are not going to have any air to breathe and no oxygen left on the planet.”

“You are right,” I said, adding, “and I have no plans to chop down all of the trees on Earth. Just the ones endangering our home.” People come first, I explained, but I don’t think he bought it.

Before they left, and after having coffee and cookies, I thanked the two gentlemen profusely. “You saved our house,” I said to him. He shook his head. “Forget your house,” he said. “We saved your neighborhood.”

Heroes come in many different uniforms. Some wear capes, some have shields and some wear LIPA hardhats. Thank you for all of your hard work.

MLW