The Marianna's Trench concert was amazing. An inebriated Keith arrived home at 3.30 in the morning, and immediately woke the sleeping Emily to give her the autographs Mer was able to procure.
I wasn't there, so this is all heresay, but apparently, my rather intoxicated daughter pleaded with one of the band's handlers to get her the band's autographs. She spun a heart wrenching tale of her sixteen year old sister, who is *the* biggest Marianna's Trench fan, unable to attend because of her age, at home, curled into the fetal position around her 16 year old cat, whose fur is soaking up her tears, pining and crying and wailing about the unfairness of the world, while drowning her sorrows in a tub of Ben and Jerry's.
Whatever she said, it worked.
We now have two pizza coupons, the back of which contain the signatures of Marianna's Trench.
And a much happier Emily.
At least for the time being.
Because when you have kids, their happiness can be as fleeting as a moment of sane clairty.
Insane clarity comes along all the time.
This last week, from the moment I was informed that classes started on Wednesday, not Thursday as I had believed, I feel like I'm living in a snow globe that someone just WON'T stop shaking.
In spite of all my best efforts, I can't seem to settle things down.
Case in point: last evening, in an effort to put my life back on an even keel, I thought I would just sit on the couch and watch television.
Back-to-back episodes of Hoarders, to be exact.
I like watching Hoarders. I could see myself as a hoarder. Anyone who has ever been in my office can atest to that.
Hoarders deeply upsets Stephen's notion of a pristine clean world where everything is in its place.
You'd think living with me and the kids, he would be LONG over such silly notions, but its clear there is more work to be done.
If I was just sitting, watching tv, not talking to anyone, not doing anything, other than blinking my eyes, and breathing, nothing would happen.
Because I wasn't doing anything.
Right?????
I should be so lucky.
In the middle of one of the heartwrenching breakdowns from a woman whose husband left her and their four kids because she hides her $6000.00 dollar telephoto lenses in piles of her kids' laundry, which is scattered all over the living room floor, for safe keeping, and every spare inch of house is full of clutter, the power went out.
The power went out.
And it was really out. It wasn't one of those did-you-remember-to-pay-the-power-bill outages. It was a world-is-coming-to-an-end power outage. . .no streetlights, no lights on in any of the neighbours' houses. Just black.
Everywhere.
I grew up in a rural area, so this kind of darkness I was used to.
In fact, when I moved to Hamilton, I couldn't sleep for the longest time because it was too bright outside.
And I had just started writing a new blog entry because the breathing and blinking has appeared to establish some balance.
Obviously, this was not the case, because the next thing, everything went black and my laptop switched into battery mode.
My laptop battery is so bad that as soon as the power is disconnected, it starts beeping and wailing, red siren lights begin flashing and warning! warning! shut me the f*** down!!!!! signs flash across the screen.
How come everytime the power goes out, everyone yells out, "What happened?????"
You're in the dark.
What do YOU think happened?
I'm sitting in the dark (pardon the pun).
So begins the frantic search for candles.
We have candles, little tealight candles that float in a nice crystal bowl, providing ambience for those times in my house when ambience is called for (which is rare), nice scented candles, like pumpkin spice and apple pie, that make the house smell all pretty, and masks the lingering odor of cat poop because Goblet refuses to use the litter box.
What we don't have are those industrial size boxes of fist sized white candles, where one candle provides enough light to power my entire neighbourhood.
Upstairs, Stephen is *commenting* (and this is a very loose interpretation of the term) a lot, about the absence of a flashlight in our house and how can that be possible among such educated people??????
And then he trippped over Goblet and let out a string of explatives that would curl your hair.
Emily cautiously comes down the stairs lighting her way with her cell phone.
I half expected to see Stephen emerge from the depths of darkness upstairs with one of the Dollar Store attachable reading lights I had purchased for the kids to use during a late night drive to the Bangor Airport.
But he didn't.
The dogs are milling around, wondering why its dark and thinking about how much trouble they could get in.
Finally, Stephen provided some scented candles and a couple of tealights.
This provides enough light for me to look up the number to NB Power.
I feel like I'm in some twisted Little House on the Prairie reality, reading the phone book by candlelight.
I hate calling NB anything. . .Service NB, Aliant NB, any time you need to get a hold of an actual person, you can't.
It would be easier for me to give birth to a litter of kittens than to get a real person, who knows what is going on and how to fix it, on the phone.
Knowing how fruitless my efforts would be, I forged ahead. I needed to feel I was doing something other than wandering through a dark house stepping on cats.
I'm on Emily's phone (I can't remember how come I wasn't on my phone), and then my phone starts to ring.
Its Keith. Having finished his night class, where they clearly had power, he called to see if someone would come and get him.
I am trying to talk to NB Power. Frankie is milling around the table, and I am trying to keep him from snorting candle flames. Keith is yammering at me on the phone about picking him up, Mer is on the other line, which is beeping while I am trying to talk to Keith and listen for a person to come on the other end of the NB Power phone call, Tikka is walking in circles around the table, wagging her big bushy tail, which is in danger os becoming a flaming torch if she doesn't get out of the way, and Stephen is still muttering about flashlights and stepping on the cats!
I told Keith I'd be right there. Em had to man the phone in case an actual human being appeared on the other end of the phone. I shooed both dogs out of the living room, and practically ran to the car to escape the black chaos that had consumed me.
Surreal.
Driving through my suburban Southwood Park neighbourhood sans light was surreal.
People were outside with flashlights looking to see if any body else's power was out.
D'uh!
No streetlight. No stop lights.
Kimble Drive and Forest Hill with no traffic lights. I might was well douse my naked self with gasoline and wander around a camp fire, it would be safer.
Fredericton drivers are the worst. I've driven in Toronto, Montreal, Halifax, and I can tell you that Fredericton drivers act as if they're all smoking crack while wearing blindfolds and drinking tequila while they get attempt to drive.
I can't figure it out, but I have seen strange shit happen on the roads here.
Just yesterday afternoon, a STU professor who shall remain namless, drove past a school bus with all its red lights flashing, as if to say: STOP ASSHOLES!!!! KIDS ARE DISEMBARKING FROM THE BUS. I KNOW THEY'RE HIGHSCHOOL TEENAGERS, BUT IT IS STILL NOT LEGAL TO RUN THEM OVER!!!!! The bus driver honked, other drivers honked, teenagers spewed explatives, and said professor just drove on by, looking around wondering what all the fuss was about.
As an aside, this professor is actually like that all of the time but really. . .a stopped school bus with flashing red lights?
So I am cautiously driving to the university through my darkened neighbourhood. Emily is dressed in her pjs, still on the phone with NB Power, and sitting beside me.
Cause when you're driving in the dark and all the loonies are coming out, you need a co-pilot.
After 15 minutes of listening to a message loop telling us that our food will last two days in a full freezer, a day in a half full freezer and NB Power admonishments to not leave candles burning in our bedroom, or leave pets wandering around lit candles, Emily begs to be allowed to disconnect.
And because I am not cruel on purpose, just for entertainment, I said yes, she could disconnect in an effort to recoup some of the brain cells lost from listening to the NB Power admonishments loop.
Forest Hill Towers had power. It was equally surreal to leave my darkened neighbourhood and emerge to streets with lights, and operational traffic lights.
I was just glad Mer had power. The last time the power was out in her building, she left for a two day vacation, while leaving lights and fans and candles burning.
Once we arrived back home, all the kids in tow, Keith decides he should go to Mer's lighted abode in order to read all he had to read to prepare for today's classes.
Um.
Hum.
Not in the mood to argue, I said go, which left me, Stephen and Em at home to sleep in the dark.
Stephen can't sleep before midnight at the best of times, and usually reads until he is tired enough to sleep.
And did a blackout make any difference?
No.
Because Stephen transformed into Laura Ingalls Wilder and read three chapters of his book by candlelight.
I feel asleep, in spite of my worries about waking up to an inferno because a cat knocked over a candle.
Reilley singed himself trying to get to Goblet's water bowl.
The power came back on at 1.00 am.
All of a sudden, lights are blazing, fans are going, clocks are blinking, tvs are blaring, computers are humming, cats are clinging to ceiling. . . .
Scared the CRAP out of me.
I didn't know I could get out of bed that fast.
But if all I had to contend with was setting the alarm, turning off all of the lights, and soothing the furry side of a singed cat, I guess I can assume I dealt with the blackout in my ususal grace under pressure.
Title Lyric: Neighbourhood #3 by Arcade Fire
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