Reflections - More Anti Than I

Log House

I plan for potential problems. Spence is utterly, completely anti-potential-problem planning.

On Tuesday, September 22 after listening to a recorded robo call twice, I hit the off button and said in my serious-teacher voice, “We need to make a plan. Penn Power is making emergency repairs in Sandy Lake tomorrow. Power will be off in some areas from eight a.m. to two p.m.”

Spence kept his eyes on the news article he was reading. 

“If Sandy Lake loses power, we often do too.”

“We’ll handle whatever happens.” He tapped computer keys. “Don’t worry.”

If I have a plan, I don’t worry. Waiting for whatever happens can be disastrous. I know. I taught first graders. Though I didn’t discuss the event with Spence again, I made mental plans.

First, keep slippers within reach. As soon as the lights blinked off in the morning, I would dash outside and throw the switch to disconnect the solar panels from the grid. I didn’t want the responsibility of electrocuting any line workers.

Second, postpone washing breakfast dishes. Without the electric pump functioning, well water wouldn’t replace the water we drained from the basement tank. We should save the water for essentials. I could manage the sacrifice of waiting until the power returned to wash dishes.

Third, organize electric-free activities. Drive to Meadville to buy fabric for a Halloween wall hanging, write four snail mail letters, process the walnuts we’d harvested, and finish reading Girl Waits with a Gun. Whoa. That gave me more choices than I could complete in six hours.

Fourth, charge my phone overnight. For certain, I would need to hold my phone's flashlight up so Spence could search the basement for the extension cords and adapters needed to connect the solar panels to the essentials—the downstairs freezer and our WiFi.

I was ready.

The next morning, the kitchen clock chimed 6:00. I wanted to roll over and sleep another hour. But, I remembered the power outage alert and eased out of bed. That gave Spence, who groans but gets up with me, enough time to cook breakfast on the electric stove while I executed my morning routine—ablutions, scribble three pages in a morning journal, and practice yoga in the loft. During that last one, I had my slippers handy to carry out the first step of my plan.

Solar Disconnect Switch

The lights stayed on. Eating breakfast, we listened to National Public Radio. The workers must have had a late start. I wrote a letter to a fifth grader, my pen pal since her great aunt Lori, aka my friend Sister Loretta, died.

Power kept flowing.

Sighing at missing my dishwashing vacation, I cleaned up in the kitchen. I’d gotten to scrubbing the cast iron skillet when Spence called, “What time was the electricity supposed to go off?”

Casually, as if I hadn’t given the matter a second thought, I said, “Eight. I guess the outage doesn’t extend this far north.”

Dishes finished and exercise walk taken, I left Spence in the kitchen connected to a ZOOM meeting and slicing tomatoes to boil down for sauce.

At Fox Sew and Vac in Meadville, a worker mistakenly asked, “Can I help you find something?” She spent the next half hour carrying fat quarters from all corners of the quilt shop to match the remnants I’d toted to the store.

Back at home, the kitchen smelled like tomatoes and bubbling sounds came from a six-quart pot on the stove. I saved the other items on my activity list and used electricity to prepare the new fat quarters for the sewing project—machine overcasting the cut edges, rinsing them to bleed out excess dye, and shrinking them in the dryer. 

The next Wednesday, September 30, the phone rang. 

        Hello. This is a message from Penn Power. Due to the need for         emergency repairs, power will be off for various streets on                Tuesday, October six from approximately eight a.m. to two p.m.         In case of emergency or inclement weather, service will be                 rescheduled for Wednesday. 

The robo voice didn’t designate a borough or township this time.

I wasn’t worried. I had a plan, and we’d collected three times as many walnuts to husk, scrub, and lay out to dry.

The image of walnuts laying on a screen six inches above the basement floor triggered red flags. The cats are fond of tipping the bowl holding hickory nuts that Spence gathered on our walks. The cats would have fun batting rolling walnuts into nooks and crannies or scattering them to make tripping hazards for us old folks.

No worries. I have time to plan for this potential problem. And Spence will handle whatever happens.

Reflections in Deer Creek