Tag: no electricity

Praise the Blessings of Light, Heat, and Internet

What a luxury it is to touch a switch and make light. To turn a knob and make heat. To keep food safe in a refrigerator for days, weeks or even months. To type a question on my computer and have an immediate answer.

We forget how blessed we are, but many Oregonians got a terse reminder over the past few days as an ice storm sent temperatures plummeting into the 20s. Trees fell, transformers blew, and power lines dangled in the wind as ice coated everything, making the roads impassable, even as it etched beautiful designs on plants, puddles and windowpanes.

Some people were without power for four or five days. Schools and businesses closed. The recreation center was turned into an emergency shelter for those living with no heat or lights. Garbage pickup and mail were delayed. Government officials declared a state of emergency and begged people to stay home.

I was relatively lucky. Everything was working at my house in South Beach last weekend, but at St. Anthony’s church in Waldport, where I play piano and lead the choir on Saturdays, the lights went out just before Mass, taking the electric piano with it. We lit candles and carried on. I led with a borrowed guitar, and the people in the pews sang more boisterously than usual, perhaps feeling more confident in the dark. It was beautiful. But I kept thinking about the homemade clam chowder I had waiting for me back in South Beach and hoping I had electricity to heat it up.

I did. It was delicious. Mom’s recipe.

My power went out for a few hours during the night but returned in time for me to carry on my usual Sunday chores.

I was watching “Ugly Betty” on Netflix Monday night when the internet quit. Suddenly I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was so used to going from one screen to another—computer, tablet, TV, phone—that I didn’t know what to do with myself. I moped for a few minutes and went to bed.

I still had no Internet yesterday morning. I could not check my bank account, answer my emails, work on book promotion, or post on Facebook. I would miss my weekly poetry workshop. But I still had electricity. I could write and I did. I could play music and I did. I could bake muffins and I did. I could satisfy my craving for eggs and bacon by cooking them for lunch. I ate them with a warm pepper jelly muffin dripping with butter.

And then, while I was sitting by the fireplace reading emails after lunch, the great silence and darkness fell. No internet, no stove, no TV, no lights, no way to know who else was sitting in the dark. I went for a walk. It was 36 degrees plus wind chill but not as dark as it was in my house. On the street, everything looked the same as usual except for the ice designs in the puddles.

Back home, huddling by the fire again, I pulled my guitar over and started playing through my list of instrumentals. Coming to the ones I had written, I got an urge to look at all of my original songs. I haven’t written many songs lately, but some of these older ones were really good. I came upon a song I had never played in public because it didn’t quite work. I spent the next couple hours rewriting it, struggling to see, groaning in frustration when I couldn’t quite get it right. By dusk, the song and I were happy with each other.

I decided to wash my baking dishes while I could still see by the light from the window. As I sponged batter and jelly off the muffin pans, I planned my evening. Forget the Zoom poetry reading and open mic that had been on my calendar for weeks. I would eat a cheese or tuna sandwich for dinner, with my melting ice cream for dessert. I could call a friend or relative on the old princess phone I still keep plugged in. I could write by candlelight, do yoga, play some more music, and go to bed early.

But then, the stove clock squeaked and the lights came on. The internet soon followed. I felt teary with gratitude. I could cook real food, attend the poetry reading, watch TV, or do anything I wanted. I was so lucky. Some of my friends had been without power for four days. Some were trapped in their houses by ice and fallen trees. But here, the lights were on, and the temperature was rising. It would go up to 52 by bedtime.

The schools are still closed today. It’s going to take a while for things to get back to normal. I’m just hoping to buy groceries and make a dent in my to-do list. There’s also that song waiting for me on my piano. I need to make sense of my scrawls and scratch-outs and get comfortable singing it. The title: “Save This Moment.”

I think of the people suffering from the weather everywhere–some places have seen temperatures way below zero with many feet of snow. I think of the people living in war-torn countries where they can’t even get food or medical care, where they don’t know if their loved ones are still alive. That I can’t get on the internet or heat my tea is such a tiny inconvenience. Be grateful, friends, and treasure the moment.

How has this stormy time affected you? Have you lost trees, power, or heat? Did you have to evacuate? What has been the hardest part? What are you grateful for now that the rain is melting the ice here and things may be improving elsewhere, too?

I welcome your comments.   

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Sitting in the Dark Without My Toys

OMG, is this the wildest November ever? The election, COVID, hurricanes, Zoom Thanksgiving. Is God pissed off or what?

What a weekend I had. It would have been enough to play and sing at St. Anthony’s in Waldport for two funerals in two days and then do a regular weekend Zoom Mass.

Friday we said goodbye to Phil Rilatos, a good guy whom I didn’t get to meet. Saturday, our Mass was for a beloved friend, Roy Robertson. Since he and his wife Mary Lee Scoville were musicians, we musicians turned out in force—as much as we could while following the COVID restrictions, masks, distancing, and limited numbers. When the barbershoppers sang the same song that Roy and his quartet sang for my husband’s funeral, I became a weepy mess. We all were. Roy was probably up in heaven grinning his gap-toothed grin and singing along.

So there was that.

And there was Gov. Brown’s announcement that Oregon would be going into a two-week lockdown starting Nov. 18 to try to stop the soaring numbers of COVID-19 cases.

But there was more. Thursday night into Friday morning, we had rain, lightning, and high winds. Early Thursday morning, on Birch Street–the only way in and out of our neighborhood–a tree fell on a power line, knocking out the electricity.

A long, dark day and night followed. Fifteen powerless hours, most of them spent huddled by the wood stove in my den. I wrote, played guitar, tried to read, made phone calls on the ancient Princess phone that still works, and ate cold food by candlelight.

Staring into the flames made me think about a lot of things. Being alone. Sitting around campfires with my friends. How much I depend on the distractions of cell phone, computer, TV, and all my other toys. How I should have bought more AA batteries.

The power returned at 8 p.m. Dazed by the light, I thanked God and the power company and eased back into regular life. That was Friday night.

Saturday we attended Roy’s funeral. Lots of tears. After my friend Pat and I ate a substandard lunch in a chilly restaurant where they were clearly starting to scale down staff and supplies for the coming shutdown, the St. Anthony’s choir did the second Mass.

Finally, at 5:00, I could go home. It was raining again, the wind blowing so hard we could barely stand in one place. But at home, I could eat a hot meal, watch TV, and hang out with Annie.

God had other plans. As I turned off 101, I noticed the lights were out. Swell. But there was more. Turning onto Birch, I faced a wall of fallen trees and dangling wires. I could not get home. I got out of the car and looked for a way to walk or crawl through, but it wasn’t safe.

I called 911. They said help was on the way.

How long would it take? Should I go to a motel? I had no other clothes, no pills, and my old dog Annie was alone.

Total darkness. Now my cell phone didn’t work. I had no one to talk to except God. I prayed.

It was too dark and spooky, and I was surrounded by trees that could fall. I drove up the highway to the South Beach Post Office where there was light and phone service. As I sat in the parking lot, rain sheeted down the windshield while wind pummeled my car. I was cold, hungry and starting to need a restroom. My black slacks were wet from walking out in the rain.

After a while, I drove back to my neighborhood and parked behind the big Public Works trucks. A guy in a yellow slicker told me they would try to clear the road enough to get a car through, but it would take a half hour or so.

I sat in my car, rain pouring, my hazard lights blinking lest someone unaware come barreling into the back of my Honda. I watched the green arrows blinking, watched the rain pouring down my windows. I prayed my house was okay, that none of my trees had fallen.

At 7:10, the yellow slicker guy told me I could drive through, carefully. And I was home! It was dark and cold, but I only cared that I was home. As much as I could see, everything looked fine. I built my fire, lighted my candles, scavenged dinner for me and Annie, and waited for daylight.

            Early Sunday, I heard chainsaws. At 11 a.m., the lights came on. It was dark for 18 ½ hours this time. I threw out most of the food in my refrigerator, glad I hadn’t found the energy to go shopping last week.

            Monday, I bought food at Fred Meyer to restock the fridge. The store was jammed with people stocking up for the shutdown. Toilet paper was disappearing fast. Here we go again.

            Do I trust the lights to stay on? No. The wind is blowing hard again today. But there’s a little patch of blue between the clouds. I’m just grateful to be here and so thankful for the workers who go out in the dark and the rain to clear the way for people like me to go home.

            So that was my weekend? How was yours?