Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Sixty One Hours


That's how long I went without power.  It turned me into a four year old in need of a nap.  The candle-lit room was not nearly as bright as it appears above.

We had power during the worst of it, though we could see and hear transformers blowing left and right.  We endured properly, by having a party!

Sunday morning, 7:15, as I was standing with the fridge door open, the power flickered, surged and everything went silent. It hit most of the neighborhood, save a few lines of homes. And so began the wait.

Do you know how hard it is to read with a flashlight propped between your ear and shoulder?  I usually have the radio turned to the local public radio most of the day.  I had no NPR.  It was disorienting.  I tried to get my fix in the car, but the car decided to die Sunday afternoon.  So it was me and the candles.

We threw a No Power party Sunday night, to demolish what we could from our fridges and so we weren't sitting at home alone in the dark, cursing and working ourselves into a righteous rage.  At least not yet.

Monday, dropped my car off at the mechanic's and walked home, a couple miles.  Weather was absolutely gorgeous, the air clean and crisp and the slower pace along my usual commute allowed me to really see the houses and yards and things I hadn't noticed from the vantage of  the driver's seat.  My neighbor S kindly lent me her car in exchange for use of my hot shower so that I could drive to an open Y and swim.  Our Y had no power.  That afternoon, I walked down to the Barnes and Noble to partake of the Starbucks power outlets and the JHU free wifi.  Catch up on the internet and charge my cell.

There was people-watching aplenty, and being a pedestrian made me love my city a little more.  I took time to actually look at  all the murals painted on end units, peer into people's gardens and on their porches.  Wander into the little odd shops tucked back a block.   Met and complimented  half of the couple that is renovating a house we pass weekly en route to the market.  It's been neat to see the neglected victorian shape up and get some tender loving care.  Sat in the sun once my cell was charged and read some magazines.  Without the car, without electricity, without the entertainment of the internet  or radio at home, with all the uncertainty, I just settled into the warm sun and let go of urgency.

Wandered home, where my next door neighbor plied me with a cocktail on the deck and S made use of the hot shower.  Mechanic called and she took me to pick up the car.

Later, went out for dinner and half price margaritas with an assortment of neighbors.  Came home to a dark house.  I won't lie, at this point, it was frustrating and by midafternoon Tuesday, I was in a foul mood.

I swam and then overcame my urge to sulk and took up the invite for dinner on a powered neighbors' porch.  They fed us electrical refugees well, and my crank lessened under the spell of good company, spaghetti, garlic bread, étouffée, salad and wine.  

Round about 8, I saw a glint in my window.  In disbelief, I started gesturing incoherently to the porch lights glowing across the street.  As I did so, a roar of joy and cheers swept through the neighborhood and down the street.  We joined in and hugged and high-fived.  It's ridiculous how much the inconvenience weighed upon us all.

The peaches in the freezer were the only casualty I was going to mourn, knowing I wouldn't get to dealing with them until they were probably no good.  But the shower-needing friend S offered to stew them up for me.

I came home today to a couple tubs of rum spiced stewed peaches in my fridge.

I cannot imagine how glum  and frankly, really disgruntled, I would have been had it not been for this neighborhood full of friends.  We entertained one another, took care of one another, shared information.  I cannot imagine living in a better place.

Irene, my liver and the contents of my fridge might not thank you, but I'm glad you gave me the opportunity to enjoy the camaraderie and take some walks.

1 comment:

Lisa said...

I love it! Very poetic, and healthy to write about what got you down.