By Stephanie Abbajay

Ahh, winter. Our world is a wonderland of white. Ice and snow cover everything, giving all we see a Norman Rockwell-esque sheen. It’s like something out of a Thomas Kincaid painting, or it would be if this lovely vista didn’t come with the inconvenience of a power outage.

Our power went out during Thursday’s storm. It just came on Monday night. Five days without power are, well, a drag, as everyone who has been in that situation (and I know there are lots and lots of you out there) knows all too well.

You know the drill: the first day is exciting. You freeze a little, having woken up to find that the power went out at some point during the night. You’re a little concerned but the kids are excited because there’s no school and there are snow drifts to play in and icicles to eat. So you build a fire, camp out around it, cook dinner (if you are lucky enough to have a gas stove), light some candles and make the best of it. It’s romantic. It’s intrepid. And it’s fun for exactly one day.

Day two dawns with less fanfare, especially when you realize you can’t vacuum up the crunchy bits from last night’s dinner, or even wash the dinner dishes in hot water, let a lone take a shower.

So you press upon your friends and family. Sure, come on over, it’ll be fun, they say. And that excitement lasts exactly one night, before the good tidings of camping out in someone else’s house wear off.

We had a generator and were able to power exactly four things. We chose to power the refrigerator, the freezer and the fan that circulates the warm air from our woodburning furnace throughout the house. The fourth outlet we used to power a rotating roster of items: the cell phone chargers, the blender (one must have margaritas in a crisis), the mixer (ditto mashed potatoes) or the TV/DVD player (a must with two kids home from school). But I was forbidden from using “luxury” items like lights, blow dryers, vacuums, etc.

Days three and four went rapidly downhill. Yes, we had heat and the ability to store food and cook it but we began to feel very put out about our lack of full power, especially when everyone around us had power and we were spending $40 a day on gasoline to power our meager needs. Bitterness engulfed me. I started thinking of people as the have and have nots. I became increasingly jealous of those who had power.

On Sunday night, the evening of day four, I went to Grafton to meet some friends for dinner. Every house I passed on Route 3 was ablaze with lights. I took this personally, as if they were rubbing it in my face. You mean you’ve got enough power to light Santa and all his reindeer, including Rudolph, plus a manger AND your tree, and I can’t even blow dry my hair?

By the time I got the restaurant I was reeling from bitterness. Lynn and Leigh showed up looking fabulous and perfectly put together. Must be nice to have power, I said snidely. They looked great. I, of course, hadn’t bathed in three days and had put on my makeup by candle light, so my look was somewhere between whore and circus clown.

Not fun.

Day five got off to a bad start; still no power (we went to bed every night praying to be awakening by an alarm clock going off in some far corner of the house, or one of the phones ringing). Every day, I asked the Magic 8-Ball if our power would be restored. “Don’t count on it,” it replied, day after day. But on day five, it said “Most Definitely.“ I took it at its word and waited all day, but nothing. I came home Monday night, we made dinner (thank God for propane) and as I was looking out the window I noticed my the security light was on at the barn. There was much rejoicing.

Stephanie Abbajay lives in Dow.