We enjoyed a nice 30-hour stretch of indoor camping here on the coast, since the hurricane-force winds knocked out the power right after church Sunday (as in while we were still in the church). Since we couldn't watch football (thank God for small mercies, this week), Aaron and Waltino threw one around outside in the wind in between runs of the bulldozer pushing branches off the street. They were hoping to see a big tree fall. Thankfully the big trees are all far enough away from our house to make that a fun game. When it got too wild we wind-watched from inside, eating cold foods and wearing extra clothes. During a lull we drove down for a peek at the waves.
I think Anna wondered why we didn't turn on any lights (we had plenty of candles though, set up high) and why she was wearing pajamas with clothes over them, but she didn't mind us having nothing to do but play with her all night.
It's odd to have no power all day. It's one thing for it to go out at night--you use a flashlight to head to bed. But two days with no work, no computers, no TV, no cooking, nowhere to go . . . feels odd. I did sort out a bunch of papers cluttering my office today. But last night we were content to listen to the wind, to feel small, to chat, to watch the candlelight, to make a little girl laugh and hold her when she got sleepy. We bundled up under quilts to rest in utter darkness, waking often but safe from the chaos outside, and we stayed three in the bed as long as possible in the morning.
The winds continue to blow and many on the coast are still without power, but we have heat and light and each other, and a good reminder how precious they are.