terrypetersen

Each minute we spend worrying about the future and regretting the past is a minute we miss in our appointment with life. (Thich Nhat Hanh)

The electricity flashes off about eight in the morning, turns on again, and then gives up seconds later. I’m in the shower. Fortunately there is enough light to turn off the water and grab a towel.

The computer screen is a dull, uncooperative black. Google is as accessible as the inner chambers of a collapsed, condemned mine. At least temporarily.

I’m grateful my car is out of the garage because the garage door doesn’t have a convenient old-fashioned handle. It has a one-track attitude; it responds only to an electronic opener—and intact electricity. Sure, the door can be opened manually. If you are taller than the average fire hydrant.

Apparently the power outage has affected more than our short street. A traffic light at a major intersection is out. I am grateful for courteous drivers. Yes, they do exist. Unfortunately, the-guy-with-the-need-to-read-bumper-stickers-while-driving-seventy-miles-an-hour-three-inches-from-your-bumper demands more attention than the individual who understands four-way stops at a malfunctioning light.

The plot thickens. The electricity returns. About three hour later. But, suddenly we lose our land line, television, and Wifi connections.

A slow, steady rain falls, but no heavy wind, no indication of a thunderstorm. I think about unexpected struggles. Sometimes they are trivial, like a delay in access to my beloved connections to the world. Then again they can be violent, obviously coming from an uncontrollable force. The death of a faithful friend or family member, or a major loss.

And sometimes struggles come from unexpected, uncomfortable change. The slow disintegration of the agility in my hands, suddenly cramping without warning, or a discomfort that works its way into pain. Example: I suspect I pulled something in my left arm during an exercise class, but no length of rest, no amount of heat or cold, helps.

The nagging thought that this pain could be something more than a minor mishap crosses my mind. Not helpful. So, I imagine fear dissipating with the next breath, or out through an ear or… a nostril—don’t care where it escapes as long as it leaves. If something serious is happening let me face it when it is discovered, not now.

I slip my watch onto my wrist and discover that the time is correct. For a change. It may need a new battery. Or the timepiece may be past its prime. No object lasts forever. Uh, hold that thought until later. A lot later.

I discover that the pain in my arm is caused by a pinched nerve. Exercises that require weights will be off-limits for a while. A while may not have a definite end, but it does have one. Eventually.

Our push-back into an earlier non-electronic era ends as well. Apparently, our contact with the outside world had been stopped by a malfunctioning power brick.

So what is a power brick? I look it up and my virus protection warns me that the page isn’t safe. Other links assume I already know what a power brick is. Google images present pictures so diverse I feel as if I am a kindergartner who has drifted into an advanced technology class, or a pre-school kid who has volunteered to guide customers through Home Depot.

Anyone could easily guess I don’t know what I am doing. Let the experts install the master switch that guides my electronic universe. My husband and I thank our service technician and he thanks us for being pleasant customers.

I celebrate re-entry into the current century and take on gratitude.

My watch’s slowness can be faced later. “Uh, silver time-keeper, I’ll pencil you in for a checkup tomorrow at two.” Of course real life could make some other appointments in the meantime. Who knows? One day, one hour, one second as it develops.

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