newjerseynewsroom.com

BY ELLEN SHERMAN

COMMENTARY

So Thursday morning, I waited 15+ minutes on my cell phone for a live voice at PSE&G, one of New Jersey’s two main electric and gas companies, to ascertain why, at 6 a.m., our house was still in the dark.

It was Day 6 without power for us, due to the Nor’easter that hit the Tri-State area on Saturday, October 29th. Many houses in my county, Essex, did not lose their power, but many did. The whole side of the block across from us had its lights and heat back on after less than 24 hours, but our side of the street, and the side street next to us, remained out. When he came on the line, the weary utility rep explained that more than 400,000 of the company’s customers had lost power, but now only 21,000 were out. “We’re 95% up and running,” he announced triumphantly.

For most of this experience, my husband and I have patiently waited. At first it almost seemed an adventure: how many layers are perfect for sleeping in a room that’s 50 degrees? How many candles does one need to read? (Note to self: buy better flashlights.) We spent the entire Day 2 at my husband’s office in Manhattan, recharging our phones and computers, catching up on e-mails and other paperwork. When we returned to our street the second night, we expected our house to be lit like a Christmas tree since we can’t figure out for sure which lights were on when they all went out.

That Sunday night, the outside temperature dropped into the 30’s, making it much, much colder during our excursions to the bathroom in the wee hours. When our thankfully battery-operated alarm clock finally announced that it was Monday morning – because it was too dark to guess – scenes from the film “Into the Wild” flitted through my head. My husband shaved by candlelight, and when he got to work, he made a reservation at a hotel 30 minutes from our house (having tried eight nearer ones first), saying, “I need a shower and good shave tomorrow. I have two meetings set up.”

As the week progressed, I would become nostalgic about our time at that hotel. My closest friends in three neighboring towns also remained “powerless,” so we couldn’t help each other out by opening our homes and hearths. Power where I work part-time was finally restored on Tuesday, and I’ve never enjoyed my office more, not to mention the opportunity to again recharge my cell phone and check my personal e-mails.

Throughout this period, I have run by my house several times a day, always anticipating seeing the lights. I have become more and more efficient about quickly obtaining what I need: more things to read, more crackers, more water refills. (No need for ice; the water on the counter is quite chilled.) I tossed out the remaining food in the refrigerator on Day 3. Always upon returning home, I stop first to check the thermostat to make sure it is still okay that we haven’t shut off our water (i.e., the pipes are not close to freezing). I appreciate the fact that the toilet and sink are operative; cold as it is, there’s something to say for using one’s own bathroom. As time goes on, I remember to take a flashlight with me to the car when I pick up my husband from the train in the evenings, so we will be able to see the lock when we return to our freezing bed.

On the local radio station, PSE&G announced that they hoped to have everyone restored by 11:59 Wednesday night (end of Day 5). Two of my friends got their power that night, but we elected to stay at our house since we would only have to wait until approximately midnight (11:59 sounded ridiculously precise). The fact that nothing happened then, or at one or even five a.m., prompted me to make that call to PSE&G Thursday morning in an irritated tone (and not just because being on “hold” more than fifteen minutes had once again drained my cell phone).

Thursday afternoon, I started writing this article longhand at a Dunkin’ Donuts where I often write by hand in brighter times. The nice people there let me recharge my cell phone in the back as well. The writing gave me a lift as processing one’s experience always does. Despite the odds, I was feeling proud for managing to keep a semblance of respectability, flossing each day, and showering every other, the latter at my Y.

But as the day wore on, this nomad started to feel blurry, my thoughts circular and without conclusion, just like the streets I had to swerve from because so many side roads remain blocked in my area, cluttered with fallen branches, mounds and mounds of them. I kept forgetting to stick to the main roads -- that’s what I mean by being out of sorts. It was as if the power were draining from my brain. That night, as I drove around some more in our toasty car, I felt a tad judgmental that people keep so many lights on in their houses. I pledge that when I get my power back, I will conserve even more than before. I also think I have proven to myself that, once I have heat, I can sleep at a temp of 63 instead of 65.

Friday morning, Day 7, I turn on the radio to learn that we are now among the last 8,000 PSE&G customers without lights and heat. But my last name is Sherman, so I am used to being called near the end. Also, I tend to be competitive, and am almost hoping to set a record now. Not really, but I am grateful that my sons are grown and living in other states at this time. Also, that we presently do not have any pets. Also, how fortunate we are that it has been a relatively temperate week (our pipes are just fine). I finally understand why winters were so long and harsh in the olden days. Oh, and my closest friend (who had been one of the last holdouts along with me) just called to say her power is finally on and we are welcome to stay at her place tonight.

Now that we must be near the end of this experience (PSE&G is once again promising that everyone will have power by 11:59 precisely tonight), I appreciate even more that the big tree in our yard did not crash into our house. No doubt like many others, I am thinking of looking into buying a generator. I do not want to sound apocalyptic, but global warming is here to stay, as perhaps are terrible storms in October, causing innocent trees still festooned with leaves to break tons of branches. They are the real victims of this Nor’easter.

Ellen Sherman lives in Glen Ridge, New Jersey. She is a writer and also works for Literacy Volunteers of America. As of this posting, her power is still down!