I’ve Got The Power….

 

This is our second, major power outage in the past week and to give a shout out to my favourite Rebecca Howe quote from Cheers, “There is some crap up with which I will not put.”

When we lose power, it’s different from that flicker the city folks feel when they ask each other, “Did your bedside lamp dim a second ago and then immediately brighten up again?” They wait a second, shrug their shoulders and carry on without losing the word on their page.

When you live outside of the city and use a well as your main water source that requires electricity to run, when you lose power, you lose, well, you lose your will to live.

No lights, no heat, no water, no toilets, no t.v., no ipads, no lights, no chargers, no movies, no “Just Dance”, no treadmills, no microwove, no lights, no heated mattress pad, no music, no computers, no lights, no laundry, no sink to wash dishes, no dishwasher, no lights, no washing machine, no dryer, no fridge, no lights.

If you think I mentioned “no lights” one too many times, you should know I flip the “on” switch on every light out of habbit as I walk from room to room looking for flashlights and batteries to light up the very room I’m turning on the switch for.

Today’s power outage was slightly different.

Greg had to leave for work at 5am for meetings and left the house looking dapper in his suit, tie, but with a crippling secret–no shower underneath.

Chloe wanted to wake up and count the money in her three piggy-banks which seemed like a good “no power” day activity but I was very aware of the no-water to wash after counting coins caked with the DNA of all of the millions of people who owned the coins before us and no way to scrub our hands other than just smearing the germs around so they weren’t concentrated in one, central spot on the tips of our fingers or palms of our hands.

I realized the only way to communicate with the outside world was my cell phone which if you know me you know it is either a) dead or b) somewhere hidden. Spoiler alert! It was both.

I found the phone and headed out to my van to turn it on so I could use the charger. I opened the garage door (manually) which took me three high kicks and two karate chops only to discover four, pick-up trucks blocking any possible way out. Oh good, the pool guys are here to dig up the clear-deck drum to replace it. I hope they want some hot coffee, a place to wash, a washroom or power for their tools because I can offer exactly NONE of those things.

Sneaking out to the van was a bit like a drug. My addiction to gathering information and seeing if the world ever came to a consensus on what colour that blue and black dress is.

When I finally got the phone charged to 5%, I was inundated with emails asking if we had power, if we needed anything. It was incredibly sweet but time consuming to get through them all and to respond so I tried to read quickly and only answer those that were completely necessary.

The phone flashed, “Please connect to your charger” just as I received my favourite message. A friend asking how many pepperettes I would like to buy from her son’s hockey team fundraiser.

You couldn’t have picked a better day to ask me about pepperettes.

The perfect pioneer food requiring no refrigeration. We could probably survive on those pepperettes and these Easter chocolates forever. Sadly, Chloe’s coin collection would be worthless in a world where meat was king.

I’ll take every pepperette you can source and don’t be afraid to go directly to the manufacturer to get some more. We will build a pepperette cupboard in the basement and it will be our power-outage cubby where we will soak in the salty, smokey fumes and dine on cured meat for an eternity. Yep, I’m pretty sure delirium has set in when you find yourself sketching something labeled “Pepperette Humidor.”

Ellie asked a great question, “Mom, can we go to ivivva today?” Ivivva is the children’s equivalent of lululemon, high end yoga wear for kids.

Ivivva is the opposite of pioneer living Ellie. In fact, if dictionaries were still in circulation, that is the definition of “opposite.” Opposite: ivivva and their parent company vs. Pioneer Living.

I’m dreaming up a closet filled with stinky meat sticks and you want to shop for layered tanks and surprisingly comfortable (and adorable) capris and hoodies.

The pool guys came to the door asking if we had a generator.

Oh God.

So, we do have one and let me show it to you. It’s one of these devices in this general area over here. I offer it to them as if it’s a Faberge egg (with a cord and gas hook-up). Please don’t ask me how to turn it on, how it works or what its function is, I am merely Pioneer Pepperette Lady and couldn’t rev this thing up unless it was powered by tubes of meat that will never go bad.

It seemed almost other-worldly that a team of workers was in my backyard replacing an underground pool liner so we wouldn’t risk tripping over something that would sit on top of the patio like the thousands of pool owners before us, while inside I was wiping a peanut butter knife with a Lysol wipe to sanitize the best way I could think of in the hopes nobody would die from whatever Lysol wipes are saturated with.

Another knock at the van door while I got my phone powered back up to 5% for the second time today.

“Greg says you have a 5 gallon paint pail we can use for the pool.”

You’ve been in touch with Greg? Is he sitting around the corner at a coffee shop all showered and eating warm bagels and using technology while we’re “conveniently” trapped waterless, light-less and having to wait 3 weeks for our first meat order to arrive?”

Off I go to find the 5 gallon pail that I was instructed by a complete stranger could be found in the unfinished part of the basement. Oh good because as everyone can guess, the “unfinished” part of the house is always the best organized.

I had a flashlight that I couldn’t keep set on solid light so it just flashed like a strobe light trying to insight a seizure while I tried to focus on the random stuff stacked around our unfinished basement.

I found the pail and I must confess I’m embarrassed to say I spent a disproportionate amount of time trying to ensure the “5 gallon” measurement so I wouldn’t come off looking like a complete clown after the generator hand-off, giving him a 4.5 gallon pail.

The power is back!

Operation “Cured Meat Forever” has been put on hold.

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