Our family recently went through a very dark time.
It came on suddenly, without warning. One minute we were relaxing after dinner, taking respite from the heat of the day in our cool air-conditioned home, discussing our Netflix pick of the evening, and the next minute our world stopped.
My reading lamp flicked off. The fans and air-conditioner stilled, and the wails from downstairs let us know our sons’ electronics had been disrupted.
Power outages are rare in our neighborhood. The power lines are underground, so when outages do occur it’s usually something on Avista’s end and we’re quickly back online.
Neither Ice Storm 1996 nor any of the recent windstorms disrupted our happy home. While all over the city food spoiled in freezers and propane lanterns flew of the shelves at sporting goods stores, we merrily went on our well-lit way.
So. Nobody panicked Thursday evening.
I mean, the most recent blip in our grid lasted all of a minute.
We peered out the window and saw our neighbors’ porch lights were off, and no lights shone from any windows. Our street lamp was out.
“Looks like it’s the whole neighborhood,” my husband said.
Feeling confident that the outage had been called in, the four of us gathered in the living room to await the resumption of our normal routines.
It was 7:45.
Thirty minutes later, Sam, 18, said, “Well. This sucks.”
His brother sighed. “I just got my new guitar pedal set up.”
We scanned our phones for Twitter posts about the outage, but nothing appeared.
I updated my Facebook status.
“No power in North Spokane. We’ve been forced to sit in our living room and talk to each other. #HELP!”
My friend, Beth, replied, “Surely your phones have some charge left in them.”
“Obviously,” I replied. “But we’re conserving our batteries for social media. #priorities”
The thought of being cut off from the world chilled us. We hastily checked the charges on our phones and Kindles and reported the results.
“We should be OK for a few hours,” Derek, my husband, said.
Slowly the Twitter and Facebook responses trickled in from other North Side folks. Apparently, our little corner of Spokane was the only area affected.
As the sun started to set in the smoky sky, I gathered candles and piled them on the dining table.
And not a moment too soon. Darkness fell quickly. Our son, Zack, put new batteries in my three pillar candles, as I fumbled in the dark cabinet for candleholders for my motley collection of wax tapers and votives.
Flickering candles don’t emit much heat, but it had been a really hot day. The house grew stuffy. We opened the windows, but there was no breeze, just smoke.
“Everybody to the gazebo,” I announced. “If the power’s still out at 10, we’ll make s’mores.”
This mom always has s’mores ingredients on hand during the summer months, and suddenly the boys were rooting for continued darkness.
Derek had wisely installed solar lights along our deck and stairs, so nobody stumbled on the way to the gazebo.
I remembered we had a battery-operated light that can be attached to outdoor umbrellas. Using our cellphone flashlights, we ransacked the storage room until we found it. Derek went out to light the fireplace while I gathered chocolate bars, marshmallows, graham crackers, paper plates and napkins.
We roasted marshmallows and enjoyed our sticky snacks as music from Zack’s iPhone filled the night. Our flickering fireplace was an oasis of light in a neighborhood shrouded in dark.
A big truck rumbled past, and we hurried to the front yard to see an Avista crew examining the box across the street. After a few minutes they got back in the truck and drove away.
We were still in the dark, but no one wanted to go to bed without some information.
At 10:45, I finally called Avista.
A nice man confirmed that they were aware of the outage and had sent a truck out, but the crew had to return for supplies to fix the problem.
The reason I hadn’t seen anything on social media is because only 45 homes had been affected.
“We estimate power should be restored in two to three hours,” he said.
The boys and Derek were ready for bed, but I had a problem. I can’t go to sleep unless I read for at least 30 minutes.
We’d recently bought a rocking chair for the deck. I scooted it over to the solar light on the railing, and Derek affixed the umbrella lamp low enough on the stand so I could see the pages of my novel.
Around midnight, I went indoors, carefully snuffing out the few candles still lit. I brushed my teeth in the dark and climbed into bed.
An hour or so later, the blinding glare of my reading lamp jolted me awake, and the rumble of the air conditioner filled the house.
We had survived the Great Spokane Power Outage of 2018 with marshmallows to spare.
I think our pioneer ancestors would be proud.