That is, the electricity went out at about five this morning (rain and windstorms) and refuses to come back. The utility information line refuses to even guess about when power will be restored. That is not a good sign.
So I decamped to the Public Market, where there are lots of good things to eat and free internet access. And I just made a reservation at a motel because yes, I am a wimp. I never claimed to be an outdoorsy type. The Mathematician may love to bivouack on glaciers; my idea of roughing it is a two star hotel.
I don’t want to go home to a cold dark house. I don’t want to be without computer or television or light to read by. These are the dark months, and the sun slinks off to sulk on the other side of the world at about four. Thus the reservation. Of course, the minute I check in, the power will come back on. It’s just waiting for that credit card charge to go through. That is the nature of the powerless universe.
The upside of this situation: I’ve spent all day making notes and drawing charts, and I’m almost ready to start writing the first scene of the first chapter of Six. I’ve got this little itch going in my brain, the one that happens when things are coming together. I look at the blank page and I can almost see the first sentence there. I’ve been talking to Elizabeth all day about what it’s like to be a grandmother when she’s got an eight year old of her own. She’s been telling me what’s on her mind, and some of it is new to me. Unexpected.
So in spite of the windy stormy dark powerless day, I’m feeling like I’m getting somewhere.