Tonight, in the middle of cooking pasta, our power went out. There was no storm, no major wind event that could’ve foretold the outage, but our side of the street was in the dark.
I was immediately thankful for a gas stove. We dug the old camping lantern out of the shop and lit a few candles. Dinner was served by candlelight, which was nice … but I never knew how quiet our house could be, minus the tv, radio, or even the low hum of the air conditioner or electric appliances. And what would we do after dinner? Sunday is one of our favorite TV nights.
It made me wonder what life would’ve been like pre-electricity. Pretty dark, I imagine. I felt like sitting by a fire and knitting.
Mercifully, as I was putting away dinner dishes by lantern light, the power came back on. It was life back to normal. But still, it’s crazy how dependent we become on our “things.” It’s probably a bad sign that it was scary to anticipate a night of doing nothing. No wonder so many Americans have ADD.
This is wonderful. I’m posting this as I sit in a chair in our living room, without any wires. Lee’s new computer came today, as did our airport base station and my airport card – so our internet is completely wireless. It works very well.
Now if only I could get Millie to work well. She’s running back and forth through the house, barking, and jumping on and off the couch. Not cute.
My computer – very cute.
Oh. I hurt.
Lee and I just finished dinner, and there was so much food. I used our crockpot for the first time since … ever. I made pork barbecue, and it was really good. There is so much, I think we’ll be eating it for years. But that wasn’t enough, I had to try out a rice casserole recipe and make garlic bread and veggies.
It was fun cooking. I love making the house smell like tons of good food – it reminds me of being at home with my mom cooking for the family. Lee was very complimentary, and he’s well worth it – but I hope he doesn’t expect this often. It’s leftovers for awhile.
It’s raining really hard here. Time to take my full belly to the couch and listen to the rain – and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, of course.
I love Fall.
But then, I love every season for one reason or another, so I guess it’s not unique that I love fall. But I do, so there.
Only, it doesn’t feel like fall here. Today, the highs still reached ninety. The humidity makes it feel like you’re swimming even when you’re outside for just minutes. The trees are beginning to look a little golden, and there are pumpkins in the grocery stores, but that’s it.
I was delighted though, when I checked our forecast on Accuweather. It does a forecast fifteen days ahead – and October 20th, the site is forecasting highs in the mid sixties – and lows in the mid-FORTIES! Does anybody really know what the weather will be like October 20th? No. But it sure sounds fall-ish.
It’s Octoberfest in Savannah this weekend – good times had by all. Erin is visiting!
This morning, we went to the weiner dog races on Riverstreet. It was really funny. There was a huge crowd, so it was hard to get a glimpse of the dogs, but I managed to get close enough to snap some photos. I’ll include them when I get the film developed. We took Millie, and she was very good – although I think she was a little sad she couldn’t race.
I tried a new recipe tonight – one for a fruit salad. It turned out okay, but reminded me of a funny story.
Not long after Lee and I got married, I got brave and wanted to try a recipe from one of the new recipe books we’d gotten as a wedding gift. I wanted to make something I’d never tried before, but something that looked easy.
Page 372 – “Tropical Fruit Fool. Fruit fools are always popular, and this lightly tangy version will be no exception…”
Despite their evident popularity, I’d never heard of a fruit fool before. And why do they call it a “fool?” I would soon discover the answer.
Try as we might, I don’t think humans can create anything as beautiful as what nature creates.
Why all the tree-hugging sentiment? Last weekend, Lee and I went to Tennessee to visit my folks. We’d planned to go hiking, but it was pouring, so we went into Gatlinburg instead. Right in the middle of all the shops, is Ripley’s Believe it or Not Aquarium. It was awesome.
I’ve always heard it’s important to have good neighbors. I believe it.
We have a neighbor across the street named Mr. Clanton. He’s a retired police officer, but he sometimes still “patrols” our street. He knows everyone on the street, he even walks up and down the sidewalks picking up litter (sometimes he throws the litter and newspapers from our yard onto our porch if we don’t get them out of the yard quickly enough). He’s often on his porch swing, watching everything. If he’s inside and there’s a commotion on the street, you can always spot him peeking out of his door to see what’s going on.
Tonight, at almost 10:30, he knocked on our door. I’ve been parking along a side street and not in our driveway lately, and he told us he’d just seen a man looking in my car. When Mr. Clanton yelled at him, the guy ran. Then Mr. Clanton came over to our house, practically in his p.j.s, just to let us know.
Lee moved my car, and I said a prayer of thanks for good neighbors. Even if he does throw newspapers at our house.
I love public radio. But sometimes, the local people are so dry. I was listening to one woman this afternoon. I swear, she sounded like she was 400 years old and her voice croaked like she had just woken up from a 300 year nap and these were her first words.
She spoke almost as if whispering. As if all the people listening to classical music would be rocked out of their snooty chairs if she spoke in a normal tone. I mean really, her voice IS her job. And she squeaked.
The difference sometimes between local and national radio folk on NPR is amazing. I remember hearing one national reporter on several occassions who had a lisp. You might think he’d be ineffective. But there was richness and passion in his voice, and to me, the lisp didn’t matter. I would much rather listen to someone with a speech impediment but a passionate, commanding voice – than a voice that sounded more like a quiet, but nonetheless rusty hinge.
Music is powerful.
I’m sure it doesn’t affect everyone the same, but it is a powerful force with me. It always has been.
I was reminded of that today. I woke with a heavy heart, knowing this day would not be easy as an American, or a journalist. I knew I would see the images over and over again, and would feel the grief and loss again.
My mood shifted a lot. Sometimes, I was sad beyond words. Sometimes I felt okay, almost normal. Sometimes I could see video of the twin towers and not feel the lump in my throat. But add some music, and I was a wreck.
I went to the grocery story tonight. I felt fine. As I left, I even thought about the fact that I felt okay. In the car on the way home, I was listening to N.P.R., and they were talking about a song that has become the anthem of grief for our nation. I can’t remember the name of the song, but I recognized it. It’s a song dominated by stringed instruments – all playing dissonant chords. To hear the music, the familiar weight of grief returned. It’s been under the surface all day, hidden, then emerging at the slightest catalyst.
I am sad. But I know tomorrow will be easier for me, as will the next day. But I guess one of the things that saddens me the most, is thinking about the people who will not feel much better tomorrow. Today, I remembered 9-11, but many can’t forget it even for a moment. I saw an interview today with a woman who lost her husband. She was asked if there were at least a few good days now. She said no. Each day she just tries to make it through. I am sad for her and the thousands of others who’s burdens will not be lifted tomorrow.