We
lose power a handful of times throughout the year, most often in winter, but
thankfully not usually for very long – anywhere from a few hours to a couple of
days. With the nuisance factor of a power outage comes the opportunity, by
necessity, to alter how we do things. These brief power outages offer a change of pace, a chance to rediscover the allure of reading by the soft glow of
candlelight in a normally lit-up world, and a renewed appreciation of some of
the flip-of-a-switch conveniences we take for granted.
Because
our kitchen has a gas stove, cooking without electricity requires only some
minor adjustments – a book of matches and a camping lantern by which to see. We
keep a two-gallon jug of water in the pantry for such occasions and a slew of
flashlights scattered throughout the house. Because I’m a caffeine junkie, I
have two back-up, no-electricity-required systems for brewing my morning
coffee. Only recently have I obtained a smart phone, which allowed me during
this latest outage to check email, keep in touch with my working-late husband, and
call PSNH to see when the power might be back on.
Losing
power no longer means being isolated from the news of the world or the
happenings down the road. All in all, it’s not so terrible, really; like most
things, it’s all in your perspective. I try to take a cue from my children, who
consider the mandatory darkness an adventure. The kids enjoy eating at a table
lit by candles. They take glow sticks to bed in the absence of their normal
nightlights. Reading bedtime stories by lantern light makes them feel like
they’re inside the pages of Little House on the Prairie, even if our lantern
is powered by batteries and lit with LED bulbs instead of kerosene and a wick.
The
spring our twins were infants a Nor’easter knocked trees and power lines down,
and we were without electricity for three nights and four days. It was
mid-April, but still winter-cold. We blocked off the two entries to our large
living room with old blankets, lit a fire in the fireplace, drained the pipes,
and hunkered down through the storm.
The
babies were only three months old then, so sleep was already a scarcity for my
husband and me, which made waking to feed the fire every hour or so through
those cold, dark nights just one more middle-of-the-night chore. While my husband
absconded each morning to his office, where there was electricity and a hot
shower, I remained at home in the living room. When I look back on those few
days, I don’t recall how much of a hassle it must have been to change diapers
and feed myself and my children in a chilly house without electric lights or
running water.
What
I do remember is that, unable to vacuum or do laundry or the dishes, without
the distraction of the Internet (no iPhone back then), and before I had
returned to paid employment, I read my way through a few books and a couple of
magazines. I soaked up the quiet and the warmth from the fireplace and snuggled
into a nest of blankets with my new children, the dog, and the two cats.
I
also remember the morning after the power came back. The winds that had shaken
our house a few nights earlier and knocked the power out were gone, along with
the mechanic hum of the neighbor’s generator. I bundled the babies into the
stroller, grabbed the dog’s leash, and we headed out into the welcome spring
sunshine. Birdsong mixed that bright, calm morning with the buzz of chainsaws
as crews continued to clear downed trees from roads and utility lines.
That
day I did lots of laundry, ran the dishwasher, bathed the children. I was
relieved by the return to electricity and running water. I had a new
appreciation of central heat. And as night fell, I was thankful for such a
little thing as flipping a switch and being flooded in light.
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