My husband called me at work this afternoon to tell me we had power.
“Oh,” I said, as though he had informed me that we would be having tripe and pig’s feet for dinner. What would we do tonight, then? And tomorrow night? The drama had given our lives a certain purpose, and now we had to return to the ordinary functions of life.
So, when I got home, I watered the flowers and started a load of laundry. We scraped the wax drippings off the kitchen table and put away the accoutrements of a black-out. The lawn was mowed and looked as fine as ever, save for a small scar where the tree plowed into its grassy surface. I can still hear chain saws from the guys down the street that are dismantling a tree that had fallen on a neighboring garage, and I can still hear the echo of my neighbor screaming over the howling winds, “Have you seen our porch cushions?”
But tonight I’m reading. And when it gets darker, I may just light some candles and keep reading.