I love the weekends. I can sleep late, I don’t have to drive my husband, The Brit, to his various doctor appointments, or our teenager, The Briteen, to school or sports practices. I settle in on our electric recliner sofa, put my feet up, and savor my coffee while doing crossword and sudoku puzzles.
That’s what I was doing this past weekend when, suddenly, disaster struck. The power went out mid-morning here at Waterman Manor and all hell broke loose. No “telly,” so no soccer. No WiFi or computer, so no video games. The Brit and Briteen went into immediate withdrawal and crisis mode. What to do?
PG&E (which I believe stands for Power Gone and Elusive) informed me that electricity would be off for some time while they repaired power lines downed by the storm the night before.
While there was still light, I continued doing my puzzles. I told the boys to find something they could enjoy, like puzzles or a book. They gaped at me like they had stumbled on a time machine and now found themselves in the Stone Age.
I tried putting the experience into perspective and said, “Just think, this is how people lived not so long ago! Only a little more than 100 years ago people had no electricity. They had fire and that was it!”
Putting the experience into his own perspective, our Briteen replied, “Yeah, but it was easier for them because they were used to it! We’re not cavemen!” So I told him to stop whining and clean his room—which looked like a cave dwelling. The only things missing were gnawed bones strewn about.
Weary of watching my cave kid sulk about the lack of WiFi, I drove him to a friend’s where they still had power. I then went into cavewoman mode and headed out to hunt and gather food that did not require electricity to prepare. That can be a challenge these days.
I mostly shop at J.J.’s Market because it is close, prices and quality are good, and the friendly staff all knows me. They, too, had no power, but that didn’t deter them. Owner Gordon “Gordie” Foy had cranked up a generator to run the registers and employees stood in the aisles with flashlights to assist shoppers.
I began to forage for things that I could heat over a small flame on our gas stove the next day. I came up with canned soups, Beefaroni, and SpaghettiOs. I threw in a loaf of French bread, baked apple turnovers, and a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup to soothe my fraying nerves.
I then proceeded to The Dollar Tree store to purchase candles and flashlights. Apparently the Golden Horde had already been there and cleaned the store out. I could only find a few tall glass votive candles emblazoned with images of Jesus and St. Jude. Remembering my mother’s frequent admonishments that beggars can’t be choosers, I grabbed five.
I asked a sales clerk if they had any flashlights and she produced three decorated with images from the Disney film Frozen, saying, “These are all we have left, but they take AAA batteries and we’re all out of those.” I was sure we had a pack at home and took a chance.
It was now dark, so I picked up my Briteen, bought three McMeals, and headed home. I arrived to find a very distraught caveman.
“God, I’m so glad you’re back!” the Brit said, “I got lost in the bathroom!”
He was referring to the hall bath, which is the size of a shoebox. Apparently the poor soul became disoriented in the dark and, upon completing his business, kept running into the wall. Alley Oop somehow managed to find his way out and was a bit traumatized by the whole ordeal.
Being a wise cavewoman, I secured and lit candles in safe spots around the living room, kitchen, and hall bathroom. My spouse took one look at them and remarked, “Jesus and St. Jude? We’re Jewish!”
I replied, “No, you guys are Jewish and so were they!”
My wise grandson said, “Beggars can’t be choosers, Granddad.”
“Excellent points,” my husband agreed.
I then set my youngster to putting batteries into the three flashlights, one for each of us.
“Frozen?” he uttered icily. “These are for dorks!”
“They’re for beggars who can’t be choosers,” I reminded him.
We only had enough AAA batteries for two flashlights, so I suggested using the ones in the TV remote.
“What?” they both whined with long faces. “How will we watch TV?”
My “are you kidding me?” stare brought them back to the unhappy reality that TV requires electricity.
The Brit finds that tea is a cure for every malady, so he went to the kitchen, then came back with an even longer face. “The kettle is broken,” he sighed.
“That’s because it’s an electric tea kettle and we currently have no electricity,” I sighed back.
“Oh, right! Then I’ll just use the microwave,” he beamed.
“You need electricity for that, too, dear.” Now he was bummed.
He retreated to the recliner sofa and, realizing it was an electric recliner, began to pout about his sad state. So I whipped out my Revereware tea kettle, turned on one of the stove’s gas burners, and carefully lit it with a match. Soon the kettle was whistling merrily and I made us hot cups of good British tea.
“How did you do that?” he exclaimed in caveman wonderment.
I felt like Harry Potter and was tempted to shout, “Expectoro steameros teamugum!”
It was now dark and growing cold, and updates from PG&E were not encouraging. So I built a fire in our wood-burning fireplace as my husband marveled.
“How do you know so much?” he queried in caveman amazement.
I reminded my Brit that while my Italian ancestors were building temples, arenas, baths, writing books, plays, and living in a civilized society, his were still painting themselves blue while living in trees, and killing their dinner with sticks.
We then hunkered down in the flickering, romantic candlelight as a warm fire blazed, ate our McMeals, sipped our hot cups of good British tea, and waited for the power to come back on—or for the zombie invasion.
Ariel Waterman’s nerves often need some soothing. Send her Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups via Managing Editor Joe Payne at jpayne@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Mar 2-9, 2017.
