After reading our superior reporter Amy Calder’s splendid Storm of the Year survival story, I realized how insufficient my quickly threaded together account was.

This today is my catch up to her level of excellence and applause at how much better she was getting it right. So this is MY second attempt at “getting it all right.”

Amy is clearly a professional journalist, and I am, after all, a nonagenarian actor and stand-up comic turned simple writer.

AFTER THE STORM

My mother always asked God not to let anyone get sick or die before Christmas — as if after His Son’s birthday, everything else was up for grabs. That’s the old Irish for you.

This Christmas unwrapped a whole bunch of stuff: 75 mph winds that uprooted gigantic trees and dumped them over fragile wires, tossing us into a scary darkness right out of a Mary Shelley novel. But no one in my family or friends died. One good friend (always a mask-phobic) caught a really bad cold. Nobody’s perfect.

The family tree lights, it seems, have lost their glitter, and have chosen to sit back in the fake limbs of the 100-buck tree and let the ornaments take the stage. Such is the generosity of Christmas baubles.

The gifts, all in their safely delivered brown boxes, have been put away.

As I write, I try not to look out at my personal Central Park, strewn about with limbs akimbo.

Judging by the new falling snow, it will still look that way on Memorial Day.

She and I are happy to see that after the smoke settled, the Paul J. Schupf Art Center and Bixby’s delightful chocolate shop were spared.

As nothing heavy came crashing down in Castonguay Square, Santa’s little holiday rental was also spared. And no children or reindeer were injured.

After two days in total darkness and cold, due to our daughter’s quick action from Los Angeles, She and I and Ms. Kramer, our cockatiel, were bedded down at the new Maine Evergreen Hotel in Augusta for two nights, with a big television screen that didn’t provide Netflix, Hulu, Prime Video or Larry O’Donnell and Seinfeld.

My first attempt with a joke about how the birds cleverly left town for the South early, and stunned squirrels left homeless, wasn’t going to make my neighbor Tony Cristan (who had his garage rearranged by a tree) smile.

Now that everyone has calmed down, refreshed their fridges and pantries, and has strangers out sawing their trees, we can catch up on the news.

Our Secretary of State Shenna Bellows has hit the big time on MSNBC and The New York Times.

I’m sure she knows her idea won’t get past the Prince of Darkness, Clarence Thomas, and that grumpy old Sam Alito, and it’s surely gonna bring our former Gov. Paul LePage roaring back into town this summer.

A personal note: My oldest daughter is coming to town with her hubby this week, to celebrate an important birthday with us.

My mother, bless her, would be happy to know we all survived the storm before Christmas. Do you hear that, God?

It’s dinnertime. As I climb the stairs to shower, the lights flicker once, twice, and then She shouts up to me, “Did you hear that?”

J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer. 

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