I awoke this morning to a stunningly quiet cottage. It took me a moment to realize there was no hum of the refrigerator, no white sound from the HVAC unit. None of the appliances had their little lights lit to show they were functioning. I looked across the yard at Jordan’s house and saw there were no lights. Then I found she had texted me that an accident at the stoplight, a block and a half away, had taken out an electric pole. It would be fixed by nine-thirty, according to the power company.
There is not much I can do in
the cottage without power—no cup of tea, because I have nothing to heat the
water; no hot water (good thing I didn’t want to wash my hair); even the bidet
wouldn’t work. I had thought my computer would work on battery, but no such
luck. No TV. No reading, because I read on my computer. Oh sure, I could do
some of that on my phone, but it’s tiny and both my old fingers and old eyes
are not happy working on it.
Besides, last night, having
had I guess all the sleep I needed, I was awake and at my computer at midnight,
making a list of things to do today, like cancelling tomorrow’s dental appointment,
making sure the Book Ladies knew I’d cancelled the group happy hour tomorrow (I
still am afraid one will show up, appetizer in hand). I wanted to check if the
church would have charitable turkey dinners, and I needed to check on a
neighbor. Little stuff, and the world wouldn’t end if I didn’t get it down, but
a lot of it was locked in my computer.
Nine-thirty came and went,
then ten-thirty. At eleven groceries were delivered, and I ate a banana. An email
told me the power company now said three to four hours. I went back to bed, but
I was restless, my body achy from having spent too much time in bed. The power came
on about three, and I worked like a demon until seven-thirty. With all emails
read and dealt with, my to-do list considerably shortened with only one of two
things postponed until tomorrow, I took a nap. Woke feeling so cozy and
comfortable, I debated getting up. But I did.
Now, at nine-thirty I’m about
to go back to bed. I think my Covid is better, but neither Jordan nor I are
ready to charge out into the world. Tomorrow is the last day of quarantine. I’m
counting on a better day.
I have a message for
anti-vaxxers (of course, none will read my blog): get up to date on vaccines.
At my age, Covid could have turned into something severe. As it is, it was like
an annoying, bad head cold, with a persistent cough (now mostly gone). I feel
very lucky but also grateful that I had good medical advice and kept up my
vaccinations. Of course I’m not completely out of the woods yet, so maybe I’m
too smug.
A sign I’m feeling much
better: I ate the leftover tuna salad tonight, and I am again enjoying looking
at recipes. So guess what I found tonight? A recipe for an appetizer, of a Spam
cubes (yes, you heard me), Gruyere, coarse mustard, and a cornichon. It would
either be interesting or appalling. I am amused at the combination of what you might
call a low-class food—Spam—with a gourmet cheese like Gruyere. I also found a recipe
for updated stuffed celery. I remember that from my childhood.
And a Facebook me that hit
home, because I thought I was having such a bad day: “If you think you’re
having a bad day, remember that the Salzburg airport has an entire counter for
folks who flew to Austria thinking they were flying to Australia.”
‘Night folks. Sweet dreams.
