Dancing in the dark

Pull in the driveway, push the button on my garage door opener, wait for it to roll up into an open position, pull in, hit the button again to close.

Flip on the kitchen light, open the freezer, pull out tonight's frozen pizza dinner, preheat the oven.

Turn on the bathroom light, turn on the water and wait for it to get warm, wash my face, turn off the water, turn off the light.

Last night when I got home I went about electrically-powered business as usual. It wasn't until Scott and I walked into the kitchen and noticed the green glowing numbers of the oven were absent that something was off. (Another sign should've been that the kitchen was dark because I have a bad habit of leaving a trail of lights turned on behind me whenever I leave a room.)

At first we decided to wait it out. It wasn't storming and there was no obvious reason for the power to be out, so surely it was a fluke and would be on in a few minutes. After all, there was Arkansas basketball to be watched. After 45 minutes of waiting and dwindling sunlight, we decided that we had to acknowledge our growling stomachs.

The frozen pizza on the counter that had once been waiting on the oven to preheat now found itself outside on the grill. Thankfully we'd just bought charcoal on Saturday.

Another thing I was extremely thankful for were our two little flashlights. Attached to the ribbon of our Christmas presents a couple of years ago, these little guys and a gifted candle were our only light sources. So, thanks to Kim and Floyd! 

We ate our pizza by candlelight while my dad texted Arkansas/Tennessee scores to us. Our minds wandered to the fridge that had just been stocked with fresh groceries 10 minutes before the power went out. It was like a ticking time bomb. How long did we have? Thanks again to Scott's mom, we learned that as long as we didn't open it, we had 10-12 hours before things turned sour — literally. However, being told not to open the fridge is like being told not to think of polar bears. You think of polar bears, and you want to open the fridge. There's a world of wonderful just behind those doors and you can't have it. Narnia could be in there for all you know.

We spent the rest of the evening playing cards with a flashlight hanging from the light-less light fixture, serenaded by sirens from the streets. Between the darkness and the sirens, you would've thought we were in some kind of post-apocalyptic movie. There were probably zombies begging for brains outside our window, but we didn't look.

We were in bed by 8:30 — something I haven't done since "Home Improvement" was still on TV and the end of the show marked bedtime. Luckily it wasn't super cold, but the house was beginning to be a bit chilly, and being covered in blankets sounded like a good place to be — despite the fact I was already wearing leggings, sweatpants, and a hoodie. I'm pretty sure I was out by 9:15. Scott's lamp on his nightstand clicked on at midnight, our cue to make sure the oven wouldn't continue its interrupted preheating from seven hours earlier. 

This morning, I thoroughly enjoyed the fact that when I flipped on the switch in the bathroom — something I'd attempted several times the night before with no luck, even directing my flashlight to the wall to find the useless switch — light accompanied it. I may or may not have flipped on a bunch of others just because I could.

(And, yes, we did sing a lot of Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark" last night. Courteney Cox dancing not included.)