7:30 a.m., I made a tall mug of hot cocoa. I made a second for him. I made a third for me and poured it into a thermos.
8:15, the lights went out.
He took the car into work because he sure couldn’t do it from here.
I put a long piece of scotch tape across the fridge and freezer side-by-side doors to keep me from having a stupid moment borne of 28 years’ habit of opening those particular doors. (On a side note, if I buy a new, prettier fridge with no broken shelf, how will I ever get one that will hold up as long as that one has?)
I started reading a book.
I drank my cocoa, but to no one’s surprise it was near room temperature three hours in.
I opened the thermos. That cocoa was still hot–careful. It was 1 pm. I sipped away as I finished the book. I thought, if that’s been too warm too long to be safe don’t tell me because I’m only being guilty at that for today.
I made progress on the barely-begun new afghan project.
I made progress on organizing a whole bunch of stuff.
I wished I had more hot cocoa.
I wished the city would hurry up and finish with their power upgrade/maintenance work. I thought about how we live a block or so from the infamous Pipeline 132 that blew up that neighborhood in San Bruno so thank you I’d rather utility work got done right rather than in a hurry. I can wait.
I didn’t want to wait.
I wished for takeout.
And then at 4:30, half an hour early, the lights suddenly clicked on oh thank you thank you.
When he finally got through the commute home, we finished off the lemongrass chicken in the fridge to make sure it wouldn’t go bad.
But the last of the milk in there was still cold.
The scotch tape saved the day.