There ain’t no cure for the summertime blackouts

A powerful storm ripped through this part of the state Wednesday night, providing lightning and thunder, rain, and straight-line wind gusts up to seventy miles an hour. No significant damage happened on my property—just a lot of leaves and small branches to gather and bag. But two stately oaks in the neighborhood were shattered by the winds, one bringing down a power line, as was happening in multiple locations across the region.

The lightning was so profuse when the power went out that I was able to find my way through the house to candles and matches and a flashlight. With the air conditioner disabled, we opened windows for ventilation and went to bed. The power was still off Thursday morning, so I showered and dressed, ate two breakfast bars, drank a cold cup of coffee, and drove to work.

When I returned home that afternoon, my youngest daughter greeted me with a grumble—“Seventeen hours and forty-two minutes, and they still haven’t gotten it fixed!” It happened that her complaint was voiced roughly half-way through our outage. I told her what I had heard on the radio, about the thousands of people without power. When it was time, I drove to the campus where I teach evening classes, unsure if the campus was open, since they had no way to reach me if the power was out and the campus was closed. There were cars in the parking lot when I arrived, though, and the power was on, and students arrived.  So I taught, returned home, read by candlelight for a while, and went to bed.

Sleep was not hard Wednesday night, because the storm had cooled the air and there were still breezes stirring. Thursday night the house was hot, the air outside was hot and humid, there was very little breeze, and of course no electric fan would work. The power was draining from my daughter’s phone, so she went out and sat in the car and recharged it there. I went to bed early but slumbered fitfully through the night.

Friday morning’s shower almost seemed to have been pointless, as I was coated with sweat almost immediately after toweling myself dry from the shower. But I got dressed, grabbed two breakfast bars, and left early for work, buying a hot cup of coffee downtown. Before lunch, I received by text the single word “power,” and by the time I was home that afternoon, the air conditioner had made the house more comfortable in terms of heat and humidity. (I responded “yea” to the text “power”—my daughter, more creatively, answered the same text “to the people.”)

Today, as chain saws roar through the neighborhood, we are doing triage on food that was left in the refrigerator and freezer through the outage. One of my coworkers asked me Thursday if we had transferred any food to ice chests, and I said, no, we were simply keeping the doors of the refrigerator and freezer closed. He said, “I suppose for a while that makes them ice chests,” with which I agreed. The icemaker was leaking water by Thursday afternoon, but we just put a towel on the floor. Once power was restored, we emptied the remaining ice and water from the icemaker and set it to make new ice. So far we have discarded the softer dairy items—the cheeses appear to have survived unscathed. We are also discarding older leftovers.

I did eat some leftover tuna casserole for supper last night, reasoning that “what does not kill me makes me stronger.” Before going to bed, I remarked that I did not feel any stronger and would probably die during the night, but of course that did not happen. Actually, when it comes to food poisoning, it rarely kills people and never makes them stronger. I have suffered from salmonella twice—both because of public salad bars, never from my own kitchen. It did not kill me, but it did not make me stronger.

We have not had time to examine everything in the freezer, but it appears that the meat remained frozen through all those hours. Some ice cream bars lost their shape, but they refroze and are edible. We did have a little uncooked pork and bacon in the refrigerator that we have discarded, but fortunately our frequent supply of ground beef and of raw chicken had been cooked and eaten before the outage.

All in all, I would say that we survived the blackout admirably. My stress level listening to chain saws all day today may prove to be the highest cost of the experience. J.

Signs

By the interstate highway, among all the billboards and business signs, appears one large hand-made sign that says, “Warning! Prepare to meet God!”

The first time I saw that sign, I wondered if it was put there to indicate a particularly dangerous stretch of highway. That, of course, is overthinking (something I do quite often). The location was random; the sincere intent was to get people thinking about the need to be prepared at any time to meet the Lord. After all, none of us knows what tonight or tomorrow may bring.

The last time I saw that sign, I noticed that it stands right in front of an Appleby’s restaurant. “That can’t be good for business,” I thought. I pointed out the combination to my daughter, and we began joking about posting that sign in the school cafeteria, either at the entrance or as a banner over the food line.

Context is everything, even when it comes to signs. A church with a sign that says “Jesus saves!” has a certain message in mind. A bank with a sign that says “Jesus saves!” possibly has a different message in mind.

I heard of two competing restaurants in the heart of London. One day one of the restaurants proudly posted a sign that said, “The Queen ate here!” By the end of the day, the other restaurant had posted a sign that said, “God save the Queen!”

I am thinking of a man I see some mornings on my way to work. He stands at a bus stop at a busy intersection holding a sign that says “John 3:16.” That’s all it says–not the actual content of the verse, just the reference. No suggestion to go look up the verse and read it and believe it, just the reference.

It seems to me that anyone who knows the meaning of John 3:16 does not need to see this sign. Anyone who needs to know the information contained in John 3:16 does not know what the sign means or how to find its meaning. Maybe in all the days that man has stood at that bus stop with his sign, one backsliding Christian saw “John 3:16” and began to think about the Bible and church and the love of God and salvation through Jesus Christ and had a life-changing moment. I doubt it. God can work such miracles, of course, but I fear that this man with his sign thinks he is witnessing, when he could accomplish far more with one conversation with a friend or a neighbor. J.