One winter DH was in a nursing home on 24-hr IV antibiotics for 7 weeks. During that time we had an epic snowstorm; over 4 feet of snow, with huge drifts. I had no idea how I was going to shovel out the driveway, and with the layout of our drive/yard, a plow isn't an option. As I was starting to shovel one scoop at a time off the top, I could hear my good neighbors, James and Emily, were out with their snowblower. Em was yelling, "We're coming, we're coming!" She helped me with the two sets of stairs and walkway while James used the snowblower to get half the driveway done, so I could get the SUV out. Once we were done, I went to spend the night with DH. When I got home the next day, James had finished the entire driveway, widened the walkway, and snow-blowed (snow-blew?) a path around the house to the oil tank so I could order oil. I NEVER would have survived all that without their help.
One year in late October, we had a surprise snowstorm that knocked power out on our street for a couple of days. Six houses at my end of the street had no power for over a week; the electric company "forgot" that my end of the street was on a different transformer- so they kept saying "you have power" when we didn't. It was very frustrating; the street light kitty-corner across from my house would shine into our stairwell, but WE had no electricity. Every evening we'd walk into town for lights and heat, and there'd be some sort of supper waiting. The shop owners of my small town sent food to the taproom every evening, so that those of us without power could get a warm meal instead of having to do takeout every night and eat it in the dark, cold living room. It was a wonderful gesture.
Mr. Emerson. He was the elderly gentleman who lived across the street from us. He was funny, strong, and independent, but losing his wife almost broke him. He still took care of himself and his home, but you could see that his spirit was diminished- and then he broke his arm. He still tried to mow his lawn (we have tiny lots, maybe 0.1 acre), and wouldn't let DH help... still stubbornly independent. One afternoon DH went over to help Mr. E and was gone for several hours. Turns out they'd been talking. DH loves history, and Mr. E lived in this town all his life. He and DH got talking about what the town used to be like, what it was like to serve in WWII, etc. DH got in the habit of going over every week to make sure Mr. E was OK, ask if he needed help with anything, etc., but mostly just to sit and talk with him; it's really what he needed most.
️ 
