Everything Stops

The electricity has been out for seven hours in our little village. It is the main topic of conversation in town and not much else will take place until the lights come back on. The only generator I’ve noticed running is the size of a suitcase for the Italian ice-cream shop. It comforts me only a little to know I can still get coconut gelato today. Otherwise people are lazily sitting in the restaurants unable to do much besides rest until the power comes back.

We were just sitting down to a breakfast of pancakes, waiting to hear Tiger Woods make his confession to the world on ESPN. I guess Tiger can’t reach everyone even when he tries (and I know this post is already outdated as this was last weeks news, but I haven't had strong enough internet to upload my writing since then!)

I’d rather check my email than learn what Tiger has to say anyway. There is nothing urgent pressing, but as soon as communication with the rest of the world is lost, a small piece of panic rises throughout my body as if I’ve been stranded on an island (an island with gorgeous fruit, a beach to swim and snorkel, books that I can study and two large jars of peanut butter that my mom left behind.) Still, when you are stranded it is hard to look at what you have. The mind only focuses on being rescued.

I force myself to focus on lunch and start to make egg salad sandwiches, when I notice the water also isn’t running. I’m thankful I’ve filled all our water bottles this morning for the day. Before I can start a new round of panicking, the low electrical hum crescendos throughout our apartment as the lights flicker on, the fan blades start to spin where they had left off and the refrigerator drones a low soft note telling me the food is being chilled.

We’ve been rescued! No longer on this peninsula trapped, we are back here by choice. And I take my kids on the bikes to go check email at the internet cafe while they eat kiwi gelato. I only have six new emails; craziest truth I realize is all of them could have waited until tomorrow…or even indefinitely if I really want to admit that.

Trained to make the non-urgent things in my life urgent while I place the most important parts of my life on hold, I take my kids to the little canal near our place and we skip rocks and pretend we are in a fort and watch the schools of fish swimming under the dock until we see the sun set into the cotton-candy pink and blue sky.

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