I guess this is what writers do: They use the last 10% of computer juice to write blog posts about the mundane.
Heading into No Power Day 3, I have to say I’m quite the fan. Time outdoors. Walking to the grocery rather than driving. Running into neighbors, pulling palm fronds to the curb. Extra time walking the dog to feel the breeze — anything for sweet, sweet breeze — and bonding with my furry dude. He appreciates it, I can tell. Improvising, Boy Scout-style: Water for coffee, heated on the grill. Tolerance: I was fine eating three PB&J’s yesterday. I could say it’s Thoreau-like, but Thoreau’s heart wouldn’t leap for joy when the power goes back on, which is what mine will do, in spite of myself. Wife and kids at in-laws, where there’s power.
The smells are not funky yet, but not spring fresh, either.
At sundown, it gets weird. Somehow the heat makes the house feel smaller than it really is. Sinister shadows from the lantern crawl up the walls and along the floor. Windows open, but no sound. There’s a curfew at 10 p.m. but all shuts down at last light, basically. No sound, that is, except for the generator down the street. It’s easy to translate Generator-ese: There is only one syllable — Eeeeeeeehhhhhhhh — and it means, ‘We prepared more than you did!’
I take that back, I hear the crickets, too. They sound less enthusiastic than usual. I’m sure that’s only in my head.
I can’t decide whether the house in this condition — dark, hot, empty, quiet — is more like a museum after hours, or a crypt.
It seems to be in an unnatural state. Really, though, it’s in as natural a state as it’s ever been.