A Piha outage
No, no, not an outing. An outage. We were given plenty of warning, and a rescheduling may have come as a relief for some, but as I didn’t exactly know about the first date, the new date for the power outage appeared on my screen simply as a date. ‘Okay. I’ll plan for it’. And plan I did.
King’s Birthday Tuesday was a mainly miserable day, the kind of day you want to stay tucked inside and drink to the King’s health. And your own; mainly your own. A day of dreams; a little longer wrapped in a feathery duvet. Of Old Man Nick rattling the window frames and door, trying to come in. Of showers and greenery dripping silver in the half-light. Of trips to the woodpile, trying not to slip on wet tiles, shaking critters off stacked firewood. A day tucked up, comfy, by a roaring fire, glass of deliciousness within reach. Of soup chugging on the stove, hot buttered toast with burnt edges and hokey-pokey chocolate for afters. A day you can’t find if you are looking for it. A day that just unfolds and envelops you. A day you should succumb to when it arrives. And that was the first day of winter, the first day of June, here on Piha.
The outage was scheduled for the following day. A brief early morning cut, then a biggie smack-bang on dinnertime, bath-time, family time, relax-after-work time; 6.00-10.00pm. I’d made the soup the day before to provide an easy-to-reheat meal. I set the timer to make sure I allowed enough time to reheat it and make toast. Laid out torches in easy-to-find places (no, I didn’t fancy a solo round of torches hide-and-seek). Poured a glass of wine. Grated parmesan. Set the fire but didn’t light it … but you see, the day had been hot. God knows, maybe 21°C in the setting sun. By 5.00pm I had stripped off to my underwear. I thought I might expire: old lady found snuffed in swanky Piha house, fire roaring away, glass of red wine by her side, soup at the boil. No. Get a grip. I went for a shower. Refreshed but not replenished, I came back down the stairs to a golden sun slipping behind Piha bush. Phew. It was like someone had turned off the lights. No, wait, not yet! Don’t turn the lights off just yet; I need to reheat my soup.
I timed it perfectly. The sun’s heat had gone beyond the hills. I lit the fire. It roared into life. I reheated the soup slowly to ensure it was evenly heated. Added a handful of spinach and let it wilt. And made toast. Three pieces, because if I wanted another, there would be none. At 5.59 pm, the fire aglow, soup hot and dusted with a mountain of parmesan and a jot of chilli flakes, toast spread with ripples of just-melting butter, candles lit, I sat ready at the low table in front of the fire waiting for the apocalypse.
The clock ticked 6.00pm. Then 6.01, then 6.02. Oh no, I thought, wrong bloody day. Then, suddenly, I was plunged into a fairy-light world of soft shadows, golden fire glow and flickering candlelight. I supped. I savoured. I marvelled at the absence of the fridge hum. I fancied I heard crickets. I was alone in the Piha dark, with only walls to protect me from the night. From ruru, from rats, from the raving mad. The firelight, the warmth now most welcome on my unclothed legs, was a thing of magic, like from my childhood, when my sister and I watched the ‘firemen’ – lines of tiny dots glowing on the inside of the chimney from a coal fire – marching to put out the fire Mum said, as she bundled us off to bed, then threw another log on the fire so she could sit there and grab a half hour of peace and contentment, legs outstretched on a coffee table, hands resting on her stomach, eyes shut. I was there with her. Briefly. Then back in Piha.
Soup time. Toast time. Silence, bar slurping. By 6.19, I’d licked the platter clean, not spilling a drop, or at least not that I could see.
At 7.20, I decided to fill my glass. I could see my way. I had made sure my path to the fridge was hazard-free. I peeked through the blinds on the way, and thought, lucky buggers on the other side of the street had not been subjected to the power outage. They were in full power, dining like Kings, children warm and rosy-cheeked after their baths, cats snoozing in front of heaters. I moseyed over to the fridge, and blow me down, well, don’t literally, please, but the fridge light was working.
I know that’s weird, but it has happened before. In my mind, anyway, it’s as if there’s a little reserve somewhere, or something, there to help you find the last glass of wine before lights out (I know, I know …). I reached for the wine, saying to the fridge, ‘don’t mind if I do’, then, you know, I had a weird feeling, like a seventh sense (surely not a sixth sense, because I should have felt that much earlier) … that maybe Mercury Energy was playing games with me. I flicked on the light switch. And, lo and behold, there was light. I will say no more. Nada. Nothing. Goodbye now.
