Skipping a day in my journal is a phenomenon that usually indicates extraordinary circumstances. Yesterday was no exception. Late morning found me dumping all my photography equipment in a pile on my bed for sorting and inventory. “You have three cameras?” Lydia marveled. Actually, I had three almost cameras. All gifts. One only for parts. One given to me because the flash hot-shoe didn’t work. My favorite, precious Canon AE-1 refuses to respond to a cable release, and I feared it had kicked the bucket since it no longer would wind or fire—until I changed the battery. Mr. electrical whiz Josiah fixed the connections on the hot-shoe of the other and I know have two very good cameras. Loading the Canon, I headed outside for a long overdue shoot and was nearly swept off my feet by the rather gusty enthusiasm of Mr. Wind. Returning some time later I discovered the house dark and silent—not because it was deserted, but because the electricity was out—and remained out until after lunch today. Sixty-mile-per-hour winds we heard reported. With our electricity out and unable to write, play piano or work on the budget I decided to wash up the dishes only to discover naught but a trickle of water. It never crossed my mind that the well-pump runs on volts and amps as well.
Angela had made plans to come here for supper and to borrow my “movie making expertise” on a video she’s working on for a missions banquet. I’ll be an award-winning director yet. Sadly, since my real dream is simply to write children’s books. Devoid of both light and water, I called her up and asked if we could bring supper over to The Loft and work our movie magic there, to which she assented, unaware that she also was without electricity. Supper was compiled completely in the dark. In the middle of preparation, amid giggles (what else can you expect from three 20-something girls in the dark?) a moan of deepest agony escaped Mom. “No, no, no!” she wailed, to which we worriedly chorused, “What?” “I brought the container of corn instead of chicken!” We rushed over to the stove where the light from a scented candle bounced off of the hand mirror lodged in a toaster, casting a ring of faint golden light around the mystery dish. Issues aside, dinner was delicious, entertaining and romantically lit by about a half-million tea-lights.
Arrived home shortly after nine I became aware of another sad fact—my electric blanket also lacked the energy to keep me warm. I rummaged through my china cabinet/hope chest and the linen closet in my bathroom and slathered my bed with every blanket I could find. I slept warmly enough that getting up this morning seemed far more than unpleasant. “You looked like you could eat my head off at breakfast this morning,” Lydia confided later. “You looked that grumpy.” I hadn’t intended to look grumpy. Actually, I was more on the side of miserable—cold, sleepy, tired of the dark—than grumpy.
That’s my excuse for not writing last night. We all spent the rest of today “catching up” from yesterday and last night.
I’m behind in my Bible reading and losing momentum.
Lord, Thou conquered darkest night
And turned our darkness into light
That we could follow without fear
And now, through seeing, Thou art near.
And as we seek Thy righteousness
We find Thee waiting by to bless
Our path shines brighter than the dawn
And we can see how far we’ve gone.