Life Without Lights

Last night I sat in my living room, in the soft glow of candlelight, hungry and sweaty from my kick box class. All day I'd thought about my dependence upon technology — and by extension, electricity. Then when I rushed out of the store with a frozen pizza — my soon-to-be dinner— into a torrential downpour, I said aloud to the rain, "Thank God for attached garages." When I arrived home, the power was out and therefore my electric garage door would not open. After dashing through the rain to my front door, the frozen pizza was quickly stashed in the still-freezing freezer, and I raced around lighting candles. Then I wandered from room to room, wondering what do I do now? No television to watch, no computer to cruise, no lights to read by.

Last week the Internet and blackberry service at work shut down for the good part of a day. It nearly shut down the rest of us, too. Then yesterday I switched to a new computer but one without all the bells and jingles I'd grown accustomed to using. I nearly had a melt-down because people were depending on me to produce and I was paralyzed.

So last night with the wind howling and my stomach growling, I picked up a pen and notebook and wrote in my journal - the old-fashioned way - by candlelight. I paused periodically to watch the flame flicker; I listened to the only sounds in the house - my cat crunching on her dinner. And I savored the moments before the lights burst back on while I ruled the world rather than the world ruling me.