I sit on this couch in warmth and comfort and type on my computer. My dining table is no longer littered with candles and my daughter has a well lit place to write. My son's jacket sits on the hearth, the dryer is heard, running through it's cycle and in the distance, the fridge hums in content.
70 hours have gone by without power. Dishes piled up, wood was burned, candles decorated the house and blankets were wrapped around bodies. As john was in florida, the 5 of us spent two long evenings in the dark. We spent three mornings in the bleak and cold and at night, used flashlights to navigate our way to the bathrooms and bedrooms.
This morning, I awakened Perry at 6:30. I lit the candles, made the hot chocolate helped him get ready for school. After he left, i told the kids we were going to go to Caribou for our school morning -- the lights will be on, it will be warm and it will be a nice change. We were not the only ones there escaping. The buzz from tables was evident. A large percentage of the patrons were all talking about their individual stories of endurance. It's not that I am thankful for modern technology or just now realizing that I cannot live without my computer or microwave -- but it takes a range of ingenuity to live through what normally you take for granted. We ate meals in house --- cooking by candle light, we bundled up, we kept a fire going all day - collecting wood when necessary, convened in one to two rooms, instead of spreading ourselves thin about the house, we (or I) relaxed and settled on the couch more (I had in mind to repaint the playroom while john was away - but the basement was freezing and dark and now I have lost my momentum) and we were all in bed by 8pm in the pitch blackness. My frozen vegetables defrosted, my sour cream went bad, my hamburger turned brown and my kitchen smelled like something had died.
We are back. Lights on. Heat on. Dishes washing.
Goodness.
