Christmas
20 degrees
13 inches of snow on the ground
I woke up yesterday in the dark.
And silence.
The power was out.
I fumbled for the flashlight I keep on my side of the bed for just such occasions and squinted at my watch on the bedside table--seven-thirty. It was at least an hour and a half until daylight, so I snuggled back down into my quilts and cats and went back to sleep.
Sometimes you have to know what's important and what can wait to be dealt with.
About eight-thirty, I decided it was time to make coffee. I trudged downstairs and fired up the stove. The old-fashioned perculator was already filled with water--all I had to do was measure grounds and light the propane. While I waited for it to perk, I made sure the woodstove was loaded with wood, turned on the radio and lit a few candles.
By the time it was growing light, I was sitting at the kitchen table writing a last few Christmas cards, basking in the warmth of the wood stove and the glow of the candles and sipping my hazelnut coffee. The morning was as peaceful and lovely as if I had planned it.
It was briefly idyllic.
The power soon came back on, but all day long, the electricity cycled on and off at random intervals. I can't imagine the reason--there wasn't heavy snow falling or strong winds blowing. I did the best I could to clean house, wash dishes and get some baking done so it wouldn't look like I'd spent the last two weeks pathetically hanging out on the Internet.
I lost count after the thirteenth power outage.
I abandoned my attempts to re-do the House of Many Cats web page in a festive format. The power spikes and fade-outs had me scared enough to shut down the computers early in the afternoon.
I got the bedding changed and put on a new quilt I had bought about a year ago and never used--it is cream, dark green and burgundy--rather holiday-like in its colors. I got the downstairs vacuumed and dishes washed. While the pumpkin cheesecake and pumpkin pie baked, I fed the cats and made a salad.
Denny called from a pay phone in Girdwood--seeing the unfamiliar number on the calller-ID made my heart sink, thinking he was calling from Cold Bay to tell me the plane hadn't made it. No--he had forgotten his cell phone in Anchorage--that was the extent of the bad news. He told me to expect him in four hours (as usual, he made it in three and a half).
About ten pm, I made myself some eggnog, got the steaks ready to grill and sat back for a moment. The phone rang again.
This time it was Kathy, my favorite cousin, calling from Washington State in the final round of telephone tag that we'd been playing for a month. I grabbed my eggnog, turned on the broiler and sat back to talk. Damn, it was good to talk with her. It made me freshly aware of how I miss her.
As we talked, the power cycled off and on a few more times, finally dying with finality. I had known in my bones that the minute I started cooking dinner--the one thing I was counting on electricity for--the power would go down for good. Oh well--this is Alaska--it's always something.
I talked and laughed with my cousin in the soft glow of candles when the sweep of headlights hit the window over the sink. "If you want to talk with Denny, hold on," I told Kathy, and grabbed a flashlight and went to meet him.
"The power is out? I thought it looked a little dark along the road."
"Come talk to my cousin," I told him, and went in search of another phone.
All the lines upstairs weren't working, so I ended up in the shop, standing next to the cats' water fountain, still humming away thanks to the independent power supply I have it and one shop light connected to. Not because the fountain is so important, but because there was room to plug two things in, so what the hell... I keep a light on in the shop for the cats because--despite their press--they really can't see in total darkness and the shop has only one small window. I worried about them falling or hurting themselves when the power was off at night, so we hooked up one light for them out there.
Anyway, I stood there and petted Newt while Denny and I talked with Kathy, trying to talk her into coming up to visit us next summer. That would be nice.
After we got off the phone and Denny brought his bags inside, we put the steaks in a frying pan on the stove and visited while they cooked.
Candlelight Christmas Eve dinner--that wasn't so bad.
There wasn't much else to do after we ate, so we went to bed. It had been a busy day for both of us, and the simple happiness of having Denny home was all I wanted Santa to bring me.
The power came back on about two-thirty in the morning.
I woke up to the broadcast of the Pope's Midnight Mass on television. I went around the house blowing out the candles, turning off lights, checking the doors and the woodstove. I left the Christmas tree lights on to cast their glow downstairs. Across the yard, the lights of the outside trees--wrapped in soft snow--answered them.
13 inches of snow on the ground
I woke up yesterday in the dark.
And silence.
The power was out.
I fumbled for the flashlight I keep on my side of the bed for just such occasions and squinted at my watch on the bedside table--seven-thirty. It was at least an hour and a half until daylight, so I snuggled back down into my quilts and cats and went back to sleep.
Sometimes you have to know what's important and what can wait to be dealt with.
About eight-thirty, I decided it was time to make coffee. I trudged downstairs and fired up the stove. The old-fashioned perculator was already filled with water--all I had to do was measure grounds and light the propane. While I waited for it to perk, I made sure the woodstove was loaded with wood, turned on the radio and lit a few candles.
By the time it was growing light, I was sitting at the kitchen table writing a last few Christmas cards, basking in the warmth of the wood stove and the glow of the candles and sipping my hazelnut coffee. The morning was as peaceful and lovely as if I had planned it.
It was briefly idyllic.
The power soon came back on, but all day long, the electricity cycled on and off at random intervals. I can't imagine the reason--there wasn't heavy snow falling or strong winds blowing. I did the best I could to clean house, wash dishes and get some baking done so it wouldn't look like I'd spent the last two weeks pathetically hanging out on the Internet.
I lost count after the thirteenth power outage.
I abandoned my attempts to re-do the House of Many Cats web page in a festive format. The power spikes and fade-outs had me scared enough to shut down the computers early in the afternoon.
I got the bedding changed and put on a new quilt I had bought about a year ago and never used--it is cream, dark green and burgundy--rather holiday-like in its colors. I got the downstairs vacuumed and dishes washed. While the pumpkin cheesecake and pumpkin pie baked, I fed the cats and made a salad.
Denny called from a pay phone in Girdwood--seeing the unfamiliar number on the calller-ID made my heart sink, thinking he was calling from Cold Bay to tell me the plane hadn't made it. No--he had forgotten his cell phone in Anchorage--that was the extent of the bad news. He told me to expect him in four hours (as usual, he made it in three and a half).
About ten pm, I made myself some eggnog, got the steaks ready to grill and sat back for a moment. The phone rang again.
This time it was Kathy, my favorite cousin, calling from Washington State in the final round of telephone tag that we'd been playing for a month. I grabbed my eggnog, turned on the broiler and sat back to talk. Damn, it was good to talk with her. It made me freshly aware of how I miss her.
As we talked, the power cycled off and on a few more times, finally dying with finality. I had known in my bones that the minute I started cooking dinner--the one thing I was counting on electricity for--the power would go down for good. Oh well--this is Alaska--it's always something.
I talked and laughed with my cousin in the soft glow of candles when the sweep of headlights hit the window over the sink. "If you want to talk with Denny, hold on," I told Kathy, and grabbed a flashlight and went to meet him.
"The power is out? I thought it looked a little dark along the road."
"Come talk to my cousin," I told him, and went in search of another phone.
All the lines upstairs weren't working, so I ended up in the shop, standing next to the cats' water fountain, still humming away thanks to the independent power supply I have it and one shop light connected to. Not because the fountain is so important, but because there was room to plug two things in, so what the hell... I keep a light on in the shop for the cats because--despite their press--they really can't see in total darkness and the shop has only one small window. I worried about them falling or hurting themselves when the power was off at night, so we hooked up one light for them out there.
Anyway, I stood there and petted Newt while Denny and I talked with Kathy, trying to talk her into coming up to visit us next summer. That would be nice.
After we got off the phone and Denny brought his bags inside, we put the steaks in a frying pan on the stove and visited while they cooked.
Candlelight Christmas Eve dinner--that wasn't so bad.
There wasn't much else to do after we ate, so we went to bed. It had been a busy day for both of us, and the simple happiness of having Denny home was all I wanted Santa to bring me.
The power came back on about two-thirty in the morning.
I woke up to the broadcast of the Pope's Midnight Mass on television. I went around the house blowing out the candles, turning off lights, checking the doors and the woodstove. I left the Christmas tree lights on to cast their glow downstairs. Across the yard, the lights of the outside trees--wrapped in soft snow--answered them.
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