Power Out ( 2010 ) by Shinan Barclay My riches consist not in the extent of my possessions , but in the fewness of my wants . ~ J . Brotherton I awoke to a silent chill . In my cottage , no clocks blinked , no refrigerator hummed . In this rural Oregon coast area , power pauses are frequent : a minute , an hour , sometimes three . Then , eventually there ' s that cascade of welcome sound -- buzz , blink , hum and whirr -- as radio , refrigerator , clock , computer , TV , heater and answering machine snap back to life . I ' ve made it through numerous power failures . No light , no heat , no sound -- all that I can handle . But I can ' t function without morning coffee . I could have built a fire on the stone patio outside my back door and heated water . But it was pouring rain . I could have hiked up the hill to my neighbor ' s , to see if Jenn had coffee perking on her camp stove . But wind whipped through tree branches . At least the phone was working . I telephoned my boss . " It ' s going to be a long time before the lines are repaired , " she said . " Hunker down . Work ' s cancelled . There ' s emergency food and shelter in town at the Methodist Church . " Groping in the dim morning light , I excavated a lantern and my down sleeping bag from the back of my closet . I set the lantern on the kitchen counter , reread the instructions , struck a match and lit the mantle . Blessings to Coleman for inventing this marvel . The metal top heated quickly . Maybe coffee was possible after all . But what balances on a conical lantern lid ? I attempted to heat water by balancing a thick - bottomed saucepan , then discovered a tomato sauce can from my recycling bin worked best . After rinsing and filling the can with clean water , I put on potholder mitts and steadied the tin with two plastic chopsticks . Soon a mini - cup of instant coffee steamed fragrantly . Four tins later , I ' d enjoyed a jolt of caffeine and even had a half - cup of hot water for a spit bath . I relished the simple pleasure of a warm washrag on my face . It would ready me to cope with the powerless day . I put on an old feather parka and sheepskin booties . Gathering several books from my bedside stand , I zipped up the parka , tied the hood tight and crawled into my sleeping bag . I adjusted the lantern and snuggled in to read . Descriptive passages from Under the Tuscan Sun transported me to sunny Cortona with Frances Mayes while outside my window the thermometer read thirty - four degrees . Poorly insulated , my old cottage was chilly and damp . Turning pages , my fingertips grew numb . I wiggled out of my down bag to search for wool gloves . I was mentally listing friends with wood stoves , yet I relished the thought of some solitude . Then my neighbor Jenn drove up . " I ' m going to my boyfriend ' s , " she said , poking her head inside my door . " That ' s seventy miles and mud slides along the road . " I was concerned . " Lucky man has power . Lucky me . You ' re welcome to stay in my house , use the wood stove , except I ' m out of wood . Keep company with my Lab and kitty . They ' ll keep you warm . " Walking back toward her vehicle , she added , " Oh , there ' s brandy left from the party . Help yourself to anything . " My vision of a warm wood stove was about to become a reality . I assumed there would be no problem finding wood . We live in a forest . Branches and twigs litter the ground . I scoured the yard , gullies and roadside , but found only water - soaked wood . Chopping branches kept me sweating for hours . That night the temperature plummeted to well below freezing . With a barely smoldering fire , I needed multiple layers of clothing and three sleeping bags to keep me warm . The cat and dog curled up with me . We survived . The next day was much like the first : hunting for wood , chopping branches , feeding the fire torn cardboard and scrunched up newspapers -- anything to get the wet wood to burn . Outside the window , fir trees thrashed in the wind . While I watched the storm , the aroma of spicy lentil soup simmering on the stove wafted in the air . On the third morning without electricity , I was desperate for dry wood that could fit into the stove without hours of chopping . I walked back to my cottage and hunted in closets , in cupboards and under the bed for wooden objects to burn . I scanned the walls , shelves and tables . In desperation I grabbed the engraved plaques from Toastmasters , the wooden clock my ex - husband had made , a redwood jewelry box , garage sale picture frames waiting for family photos , knickknack shelves that needed glue . At first , it seemed like a crime to burn my teakwood tongs and salad bowls , but I rarely used them . Torching Grandma ' s rolling pin struck me as taboo , but it was moldy and missing one handle . I wrestled with the idea of burning my walnut bookshelf . No way ! Instead , I stacked wet branches on Jenn ' s porch , getting them out of the rain , then sawed them into stove lengths and brought them in to dry near the fire . Who knew how long the power would be out ? I ' d always intended to purge my cottage . Now , desperation pushed me past intention into action . For each wooden item , I quizzed myself : " Do I love this ? Do I need this ? " Soon objects were heaped by the door : the driftwood lamp , the myrtle wood breadbox , the dilapidated three - legged plant stand . As I whacked each item apart with a hammer , I began to feel a sense of inner strength . I hauled the wooden pieces up to Jenn ' s house . After I shoved the forlorn keepsakes and family artifacts into the wood stove , I realized the power outage had filled me with intent and courage -- a ritual release of my past . While the crackling fire in the stove cranked out heat , I peeled off parka , sweater and turtleneck , rocked in an overstuffed easy chair and sipped apricot brandy , while snuggling with the pets . A pot of Swiss fondue bubbled on the stove and my cup steamed with hot coffee . Looking around , I appreciated Jenn ' s simple decor and reflected on how her energetic spirit seemed rarely weighted down . I picked up my pen and wrote Jenn a thank - you poem and decided that next Christmas I ' d tell her boyfriend to buy her a mini chain saw . Having to survive without electricity for eighty - four hours I developed a new appreciation for light , heat and an electric stove . I was also grateful for the experience . I ' d burned relics that had cluttered my life . Thanks to the blackout , to Jenn , and to fire , the great purifier , I felt empowered and warm all over . My possessions were fewer , my blessings greater . --- The End --- source : Chicken Soup from www . beliefnet . com 사업자 정보 표시 | | | 사업자 등록 번호 : -- | TEL : -- | 사이버 몰의 이용 약관 바로 가 기