I Was A Suicidal Laura Ingalls Wilder

Let me be clear. I loved the "Little House On The Prairie" book series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. "On the Banks Of Plum Creek" was my very, very favorite. The chapter where Mr. Edwards brings the lost Christmas gifts I can almost recite by heart, but please, I beg you, do not expect me to live in a little mud hut next to a body of water. Yesterday, some nice high school student ran over a transformer on his way to school and cut off the power to the high school and nearby neighborhoods -- that would be us.  SoCal Edison said we wouldn't get the power back until 10:00pm -- which seemed discouraging to say the least. Since the HMA works at home, he couldn't access his work on his home computer. He could go to Starbucks and work like everyone else -- except for one little sticky wicket -- he uses a desktop computer not a lap top. So, over his mild objections about what kind of idiots we would look like --- we loaded his computer into my car and took the whole she-boodle to Starbucks. Customers were curious about what we were doing. I heard some guy say, "Now he means business!" But everyone was friendly and sympathetic. They made room for us and made us feel welcome. The low point was when we had to return home, as twilight was fading, to a cold and ever increasingly dark house. We gathered up our flashlights and candles. (I was seriously worried about how putting three very active cats and a bunch of candles together in a dark house was going to turn out.) We checked on the food in the freezer. (We have hundreds of dollars of Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers ice cream in there, and as God is my witness, I was willing to sacrifice my own diet and eat it all before it went bad. Yes, I AM that cheap.) No matter, once we rounded up the troops, we decided to take ourselves off to our fave restaurant for dinner. We are treated like gods there. They know us by name and didn't seem to mind when we lingered after dinner. And as we drove up the long road back to our house, my eyes searched the shadowy outline for any signs of lights. There were none. It wasn't until we got up next to the house that we saw the lights were on and we were back in business. I've never been so thrilled.

Dear Electricity, I love you. Please don't ever leave me again. I can't live without you.

And don't ask me if I want to go camping. I don't mind sitting around a campfire at night singing "Kumbaya" and roasting S'mores. But when the sun comes up in the morning, I want to be at the Marriott in a white fluffy robe blow-drying my hair. Enuf said.