Blogging By Candlelight

Tonight, just around dusk, the lights went out. For those of us who live in western Monmouth County, where we rely on well water and an electric pump, that means we also can't run the faucets or flush the toilets.

It's life back in the 1800s. (Or 1900s, if you lived on a farm in upstate New York like my mother-in-law.)

"This is about the time farmers would be going to bed anyway," my husband said.

"But I'm not ready for bed. It's only 8:30," I thought to myself. "There's still so much to do."

We had just put Hendrick down to sleep, and I planned to load the dishwasher, throw clothes in the dryer, write a freelance story and, if I had some energy left - pardon the pun - write tonight's blog.

I started to panic.

"Now we can just relax," my husband offered.

I sighed, resigned to the fact that my chores just weren't going to get done tonight.

Does it really take the meltdown of a power grid to get me to relax?

Perhaps I should take this opportunity to work on something more important than a clean house: my marriage.

This revelation comes to me as I sit in bed, jotting down notes by candlelight for this blog. John, meanwhile, with his tiny reading lamp in hand, just went to check on Hendrick. Now he's fumbling around the freezer for some ice cream.

I should join him before the ice cream and this moment melt away.