Hot yellow flashes crackled in the night
sky. Trees frantically tossed their
branches. Wind gusts buffeted me across
the street. Cool rain splashed on my
head and shoulders.
I turned on the TV news and started
to pour protein smoothie ingredients into the blender. The power went off.
“No problem,” I thought. I was wrong.
The power stayed off: that was
Monday evening. Today is Wednesday. Residents of the Oak Park neighborhood are
still without power.
It doesn’t help that I’ve been sick
all week with allergies. There are all
sorts of cleaning tasks I could tackle without electricity if I only had the
energy. Of course, then I’d sweat even
more.
The worst part about being powerless
is the standstill it creates. The
freezer and refrigerator food that will have to be tossed don’t bother me
nearly as much as life without central air.
Admittedly, there is more that I miss.
I can’t pay my online bills, check my email, or post on Facebook. I can’t check the weather or see the
news. I can’t transcribe those 1913 letters
of my grandparents, use writing software to plan a novel, or complete the final
edits in my Random Reflections manuscript.
How did my life become so
technology-bound? Though I can power up
my electronic devices at the library and use the internet there, it seems that
a few hours is not enough.
So I sit here in the dim light of
morning without electricity. I am
gradually getting hotter and definitely guaranteed all-day pain in my right arm
from wielding a pen. I stop writing to
blow my nose, sip some lukewarm water, cough, and then close my eyes with the
exertion. Maybe once I’ve stopped
whining, I will think to bow my head and confess my personal powerlessness to
the Creator. But I think I’ll ask for
central air, too.
