Roughin' It

After a long week of late nights spent at the office, I snuck out early Friday afternoon. I bounded into my house, body brimming with energy and mental checklist brimming with long-overdue tasks (groceries, cleaning, mowing, weeding, crocheting). It was going to be a glorious weekend of rebooting, and I wasn't about to let a minute go to waste!

I threw off my work uniform (sundress and cardigan), threw on my weekend uniform (yoga pants ... glorious, glorious yoga pants) and tossed my grocery list in a bag. Then I walked by a window and saw my neighbor's lawn furniture bouncing across the backyard like tumbleweed.

Hmm, I had noticed that it seemed a little dim outside for a late afternoon summer. But it hadn't occurred to me that a storm might be abrewin'.

At 4:30, the first clap of thunder boomed out. At 4:31, the power went out.

Being a fan of thunderstorms, I assumed the best. What a great chance to light up my decorative candles from Bath and Body Works! I set about to scrounge up a box of matches to light the wicks. Why, I could finish my shopping list by candlelight. How quaint! Very Little House on the Prairie. Then, when the power came back on, I could roll back into the 21st century and head to the local supermarket. Just a minor setback to my weekend of productivity.

Two hours later, the power was still out. And the charm was starting to erode. I wondered what could be taking so long for the lights to flicker back on. After checking my breaker box for blown fuses (no luck) I decided to open up windows and doors and let some fresh air into the house.

That's when I spotted the tree across the street laying across my neighbor's van.

Downside: so maybe this storm was worse than I thought.

Upside: large-scale property damage is a great ice breaker! It gave me an easy conversation starter with my neighbor of a year to whom I had never actually spoken. There is a silver lining to every cloud. Even clouds with 80+ mile-an-hour wind gusts.

After helping my neighbor's kids pull some of the branches and trunk splinters off their driveway so they could start up a rousing game of basketball, I walked back across the street and headed inside.

And began a week-long catastrophe of 19th century living.

So here's a fun fact about me. I apparently have no idea which devices in my house use electricity and which devices function just fine without it. For example: I understood that my refrigerator would no longer be able refrigerate. (Sometimes the name of the appliance helps.) Obviously, some of the food items would spoil if the power didn't come back on in a few hours. Not wanting food to go to waste, I speed-opened the door (a sport in which I could now go pro) and grabbed the egg carton. Scrambled eggs sounded nice and yummy! Oh, wait. I have an electric stove top. Well, maybe they would turn out moderately edible if I nuked them. I cracked three, whipped them up in a bowl, and popped them into the microwave. Oh, wait. Yeah, that's not going to work either. In fact, there was no possible way to cook these eggs short of setting the skillet out on the sidewalk and hoping the 90+ weather fried them up. I dumped the eggs down the kitchen sink and flipped the switch for the garbage disposal. Oh wait...

On the opposite side of the spectrum, I spent a full two minutes staring at my toilet, trying to figure out if any part of it required electricity to flush.

All in all, the first night and next morning weren't too bad. After the egg fiasco, I feasted on a dinner of strawberries and a cake frosting. Yes, I understand that the cake frosting would not have spoiled. I stand by my decision. I spent the evening putting actual pen to paper, writing in my journal. I reread a few of my favorite essays from the (recently) late and (always) great Nora Ephron.

However, I quickly learned another delightful lesson: the number of scented candles it takes to light my living room is the exact same number of scented candles that make my living room unbearably scented. By 9PM the charming glow of the candles was trumped by their toxic fumes. None of them were playing nice. French Vanilla, usually so sweet, was rapidly turning sickening. Eucalyptus Mint started creeping into aftershave territory. And Moonlight Path was bitch-slapping the weak-willed Dancing Waters all over the living room. My sense of smell trumped my sense of sight and I puffed out the aromatic assault weapons and headed to bed.



Which means that I woke up bright and chipper at 6AM. Bursting with energy but without anything to do.



My lighting scheme for the weekend.



Candles became a recurring theme over the next few days.  Taking a shower ... by candlelight. Washing dishes by hand ... by candlelight. Washing laundry by stomping on it in the tub like smashing grapes ... by candlelight. Come to think of it, given slightly different circumstances, this would have been an incredibly romantic weekend. You know, if I hadn't been by myself in a overheated and under-entertaining house. But my bathroom has never smelled more "in the mood."

Then again, the event did bring me much closer with one particular item: my iPhone. As long as it still had juice, things weren't too bad! No television or radio? No problem. Just pulled up some Netflix videos and a Pandora station. Flashlight batteries go out? No problem. Just downloaded a flashlight app. I've never loved an inanimate object so much in my life. In fact, it may have surpassed my obsession with the Southwest Chicken sandwich. (Sorry, Southie, but you abandoned me for the summer. And out of sight = out of mind.)

But even iPhone couldn't save me entirely. By Day Three of the blackout, I discovered that power wasn't likely to be restored for another four days. Which, coincidentally, was at the same time that I discovered a few other things that didn't work without electricity: my common sense, my emotional stability, and my general sense of humanity and goodness of others. All emotional capacities were running on auto pilot. A very curt pilot with dead, soulless eyes.

And that's when I discovered the Fridge Catastrophe of 2012.

My refrigerator is pretty old, as refrigerators go. I'm sure it was state-of-the-art back when it was rolled into the house in 1987. But its crisp white frame had faded to a dingy yellow and the ice dispenser boasted orange stains around its spout. She'd seen a lot of culinary victories and defeats in her old age. Still, I figured the hunk of metal would be pretty well sealed, seeing as it looked like it could have survived the London Blitz. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into my kitchen on Day 3 and felt a splash.

Okay. So I understand that, after three days, I should have anticipated that everything in my freezer and fridge were shot. I understand that NOW. But, at the time, it was sooooo hooooooot. And I was soooo booooooored. Hanging out at my aunt's air-conditioned house or watching the latest Real Housewives of An Urban Area with my cousin sounded so much more appealing. By the time I got back home, water had leaked out of the fridge and seeped into the hardwood (okay, wood laminate) floor, making the corners of each piece curl up like a library book left out in the rain. I didn't panic. At first. I just calmly got the last three dry towels in the house (the rest were steeping in the washer that had stopped mid-cycle) and started blotting up the water right in front of the fridge. Then I spotted some puddles over by the table. And by the stove. And in front of the dishwasher.

And THAT'S when Suano lost it.

Kneeling on the floor, surrounded by trash bags of spoiled food, pushing water around with soaked rags (by candlelight), my own tears adding to the condensation... I would so not cut it during any other time in history. If I couldn't handle a bubbled floor and some potent candle fumes, then really, what epic historical events could I really survive? Shopping chaos on Black Friday makes me sweat just thinking about it.

So, on Day Four, I admitted defeat I packed my bags, parked my stuff at my cousin's house, and headed back to my parents' home for an extended weekend stay. And, after taking a well-lit shower and recharging all my electronics, being home put things into perspective. Maybe there are seven stages of grief when mourning the loss of electricity:

*** P.S. UPDATE

I HAVE POWER!

I have never been happier to get a text. My neighbor sent me a message that the electricity has finally been restored.

Yes, I have her name in my phone as "Sheila Neighbor."

Yes, that is because I don't know her last name. There was a tree down on a vehicle. We didn't go in-depth on contact information.

Little Lexi was happy to see her Aunt Suano this weekend, but she was SO excited that Aunt Suano got power back that she did a little dance to celebrate.

I give you ... the Got Power Dance.

She could power a village with the sheer wattage of her cuteness.