10202017Headline:

The Weak Survivalist

"Well, I'll hold you Susan, but they did say the internet would only be out for an hour."

“Well, I’ll hold you Susan, but they did say the internet would only be out for an hour.”

Now is the winter of my discontent.

Actually, it’s discontented pretty much everyone in this great country of ours, but it’s trying particularly hard to put the last nail in the coffin by gifting me with a cold to beat all colds. Luckily, I think I’ll make it, but while I’m pretty handy at fighting off the plague with healthy does of wine and NyQuil, I did recently learn the probability of me making it as one of the very first settlers would be slim to none.

Seriously, I would’ve died.

And not just because I’m terrible at hand-to-hand combat with bears.

While in the chaotic throws of having my beloved laptop in the shop, I was nursing heartache and trying to track down where the children were so I could clock out for the night, when the power went out.

“Kids, don’t panic. We’ll guide you to your rooms and call for help.”

Husband looked at me. “It’s only six thirty and the sun’s still up.”

“Right, well Mama had plans to watch season four of The Sopranos. So I’ll say it again, no one panic.”

Doors shut, kids sleeping, digital clocks faceless, the power was still out as Husband and I sat on the couch watching the sun disappear.

“What if it never comes back on?”

“It will, you just have to believe.”

“You’re seriously my rock. The last rays of the day’s light against your jawline remind me of your beautiful soul and why I fell in love with you.”

“My phone just said the power company relayed that this might not be fixed for hours.”

“For better or worse they said.”

Overthe next hour, we huddled together, relishing the light of our only candle.

“What’s that scent?”

“Banana Nut.”

“At least when they find out bodies after this horrific apocalypse, they’ll think you were baking.”

The dark closed in and I wept delicately on one of the couch’s varied food stains. “It’s not fair. I only have three hours to myself all day. Why, cruel world?”

Then there was light.

I’d like to end today with a small note:

Dear Lord,

Thank You for not making me one of my first ancestors. In Your wisdom, You realized my lineage would’ve been as long as a twistie tie on a trash bag. For, when I was plunged into darkness, I did not take up knitting or spinning wool by light of my Banana Nut candle, I panicked instead. Also, the chances I would’ve been eaten by a bear are alarmingly high.

Sincerely,

Paige

So, everyone, let’s cross our fingers and hope for no more power outages or computer glitches. Otherwise, the author of this here blog might not make it.

Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com, and is the author of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles: Mostly-True Tales of An Impending Miracle. You can reach her at paigekellerman@gmail.com


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