We currently own seventy pounds of ice, which doesn’t include what the refrigerator makes.
We have ten seven-pound bags, some in the freezer and the rest sitting inside a 60-quart Coleman ice chest that is supposed to keep things cold for four days. At the moment, the principal thing it is keeping cold is more ice.
It began when the weather started deteriorating in the Gulf a few days ago, the future Edouard, which, after Andrew and Katrina and Rita and Laura and Delta and and and, is enough to make a soul start smelling the rotten contents of his fridge even on a still-sunny day. The two gallons of milk were my greatest concern, all $5.64 worth of it. The many condiments and sauces we have are worth more, but that milk for some reason…
Five bags seemed prudent. So I got none the first trip to the store, on Monday, after re-calculating how much time I had. Then, as the course of the day went on, as I kept my eyes on the forecast, I started picturing everyone else arriving at H-E-B an hour before me, wheeling away the final bags while I stood there thinking about my $5.64-worth of milk.
Still, my stubbornness was holding on. I bought four that afternoon, few enough to be able to fit into the freezer.
I’m not wasting this ice!
Half a day later, early in the morning, and waking up to the latest forecast, I got into my car and drove to get six more. There was no hesitation this time.
I was ready. I had done my duty as a husband. Annnnnd…
Edouardo never came here.
I know it came elsewhere, and I empathize with the people now dealing with the aftermath. The point of this piece and series is to discuss, with humor and everyday wisdom, the job of new homeownership.
It’s Wednesday morning, and the electricity is still on. The refrigerator continues refrigerating without any assistance from me. We did dip into one bag of it for our drinks for supper last night, so we’ve gotten some of our money’s worth.
But here we are, with a freezer and ice chest full of ice. There are only so many drinks one can chill, even with 69.83 pounds of ice.
Such are the responsibilities, and beauty, of homeownership, where a suspicious blob on a weather map can make you clear water from your rain barrel by watering every single plant you have and move every domestic missile in the yard to safety. Before owning a home, bad weather was primarily something I watched and reacted to, sure, but I was largely responsible only for my person, my body, and to where it would evacuate. Now it has a yard full of stuff, repair possibilities, potential insurance nightmares, and a direct relationship with whether the milk survives.
Not to mention the best thing of all—a wife.
And all humor aside, it is for that reason that buying the ice and still having the ice was not the wrong decision at all. Had the power gone out, those seventy pounds would have helped protect the food upon which she depends. Because the power remained on, we are left with ten bags we may never need, which makes the purchase easy to second-guess now, but the bottom line is that you do things sometimes not for the milk even though it makes a nice joke after the fact, but for the people you love.
Those people are worth taking a match and setting fire to a twenty-dollar bill. It doesn’t take “something happening” for the same purchase to suddenly look responsible, even wise.
When possible consequences range from an ordinary rainy day—and the need for side gutters—to a prolonged power outage from a storm, certainty is a luxury a homeowner simply doesn’t have. By the time any certainty arrives, the shelves may be empty, the roads may be too dangerous, and the opportunity to prepare may be gone. One’s responsibility sometimes requires acting while the outcome is still unclear, accepting that the money spent may produce nothing but a bunch of melted ice.
It is the only charitable thing to do, and most importantly, God is watching you do it.
Trust in God doesn’t mean passivity, just as responsible preparation doesn’t mean pretending we can purchase control over the future. We make reasonable provisions for those we love, and then, having done what we can, we accept that the outcome remains outside our hands.
For now, the seventy pounds remain frozen, giving us what may be the safest two gallons of milk in the South. Nothing happened, thanks be to God, but we also offer our prayers for those Edouard did “happen” to. I would much rather look at unused ice today than an empty cooler during a power outage, knowing that a small expense could have left my wife better cared for.
The money to a cynic has proven wasted perhaps. The decision was not. It is a lesson every new homeowner should remember: Our greatest treasures outside of God are made of flesh and blood.
Thank you for reading The Hayride!
OTHERS IN THE SERIES
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