The lights went out. My Little Miss was in her bath and I had just commented to her that the wind was really whipping around out there. Then there was a violent flicker and dark.
After plucking a wet and frightened little girl from the bath and settling her -- warm and soothed -- into her bed, Gary and I faced an evening by candlelight. On Friday night we had sat across a restaurant table from each other, bathed in the dim glow of commercialized romance. This was different -- candlelight imposed on our regular life.
Drawing on a poignant memory from my childhood (when the power went off much more frequently) I took a candlelight shower. While my hair dried, I sat with Gary. We filled the living room with warm, flickering light and listened to the storm rage. We talked. I crocheted for a while and thought of all the fine handwork done by candlelight years ago. I thought of the poor souls from the Hydro company who must be working on the lines somewhere out there.
When the lights flashed obtrusively back on we turned them out and went to bed.