Reflections on the Eleventh Week of Winter

    Spence was on his knees in the bathroom when the lights went out.

    I'd washed a single dish after the Country Charms Quilt Guild meeting Wednesday evening. “Are you all right,” I yelled from the kitchen.

    “Yeah,” he answered. To read the directions for installing a new toilet seat, he'd taken off his glasses. He groped along the floor for them.

    By the wood stove's red glow and the computer screen's blue-white glare, I gathered candles and matches. Cinnamon, wild cherry, and lilac fragrances mixed with bubble gum flavors of my youth. The burning candles formed a shrine emitting waxy, fruit salad smoke. A mini mason jar wafting coconut fumes gave the best light. I carried it to find the flashlight for Spence and recalled two previous blackouts after which the electricity surged back and burnt out the computer board that activates the water heater when we turn on the tap. I handed the flashlight to Spence. “One of us should turn off the hot-water-on-demand.”

   He put on his glasses–they'd been on top of the toilet tank where he wouldn't step on them–and took the flashlight. “She can find things for me to do in the dark,” Spence told George.

    Emma mer-rowed in the loft. George climbed up the spiral stairs to comfort her. She met him half way. In candle light, the cats touched noses.

    Spence turned off the hot water unit. I turned off the computer. He cleared walkways. I tripped over George. Since we didn't have electricity to pump more water, I abandoned the dishes. “Let's star gaze.”

    Spence shook his head. “No stars. The sky is overcast.”

    I checked. The moon glow through the clouds gave more light outside than the candles did inside.

Spence re-attached the old toilet seat. “Figuring out how to put the new one on is too complicated in the dark.”

    I blew out the candles, went to bed early, and read a Hercule Poirot short story by flashlight.

    Spence thumped around the great room. “Noises are louder in the dark,” he said. He stomped back and forth in the hall. “I'm going to the bathroom.” Instead of the old toilet seat thudding against the tank, the front door slammed.

    He wouldn't. Would he?

    Footsteps clunked down the porch steps.

    Silence.

    Under a cozy fleece blanket, I hoped he didn't freeze anything on his trip to the woods.

    Finally, Spence lay down. George settled on Spence's chest, Emma snuggled against my back, and we fell asleep.

    At 1:15, lights blazed, the refrigerator buzzed, and the cat fountain burbled. I rolled over and let Spence turn off the lights the proper way–with switches.