On Monday my power went out around 6pm. Immediately, I thought I was going to die. Partly because of the frozen P.F. Chang’s meal-for-two that was wilting in the freezer, and partly because it was the season finale of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. I’m aware of how obnoxious that all sounds.
The silence was deafening. Not a hum from the fridge, a startle from the sump pump, or the breeze from our ceiling fan. How do the Amish manage? I had to get out.
So I walked my dogs around the block, hoping that by the time I got home the roar of our air conditioner could be heard from here to Denver as it worked double duty to catch up and cool our place down. Such would not be the case.
A few neighbors rallied together and called the electric company. It was after-hours on Labor Day. No one was working. I repeat, no one was working. At that point, my husband ran to the hardware store for the essentials: lanterns, s’mores sticks, and Freeze Pops (didn’t think that last one all the way through…).
Soon enough we were grilling burgers with a cast iron pan over a fire we made in the backyard from cedar planks and pages of an old People magazine. Ash was falling into the beef patties as excess grease cause a fire in the pan. Inside, candle wax had dripped onto our granite counter tops and a mason jar had shattered on the floor as I attempted to reach for a paper towel. Does wax ruin granite? Let me google that on my computer…oh wait. Never mind. And my phone? Yeah, that died a long time ago.
After “dinner,” I couldn’t stand the boredom anymore so I went to bed. There, I reminisced about all the times we had power. I vowed never to take vacuuming for granted again. Same with my ice dispenser.
I started to spiral: Will the power ever come back on? Is my DVR still working? Oh, the humanity!
Well, the power did come back on. And humanity was the name of the game, exactly.
Around midnight, I could hear our electronics buzzing in harmony, announcing their return. It was loud and it was glorious. Of course, the first thing I did was hook my iPhone up to life-support and log on to Facebook to declare my freedom once again. The first news story was a picture from my friend Manda.
<an ice machine>
<another ice machine>
<a sonogram>
Ice, Ice, Baby.
Manda was pregnant! And while my newsfeed is a constant smorgasbord of irritating displays of lineage, this was different.
For years, Manda and Pat have struggled to get pregnant. Tests, meds, invasive procedures, uncertain methods, and most of all heartache defined their fertility story. Eventually, Manda wrote me a letter asking for help – “not yet, but soon” – with writing an essay for their adoption application. Aside from my memoir, I couldn’t think of a greater way to use my talent – and I said yes as I waited to be called from the bench.
But lo and behold, a baby. Their baby. My heart was engulfed in joy for them, and suddenly my frustration about the power being out felt disgustingly stupid.
Life has an incredible way of showing you what real problems and real triumphs are, especially when you need the lesson most. Furthermore, it also has an incredible way of reminding you to never to lose hope that the power – I’m talking about that thing you want, that you know you deserve, that fulfills your purpose – will always come back on.
Congrats, Manda and Pat.
total e-bag 