I wake at 4 a.m. Monday morning. No electricity. I feel my way down the stairs to the phone, and call in the outage. I’m told there are outages all over the county, and that 35 of my neighbors in Brownsmead have also reported in. Just 35. Not good. We’ve probably been placed at the end of the line.
I go back to bed, but can’t sleep knowing that when I do get up for the day, I won’t be able to have my toast and coffee fix, and I won’t be able to turn on the telly to watch the morning news.
It’s the fourth outage here since August, and I’m well on the way to feeling sorry for myself when … I suddenly imagine myself on the other side of these bedroom walls, out in that driving rain, with no bed or roof to shelter me.
In two days, if the weather dictates, I’ll be volunteering at the Astoria Warming Center on its first night of the shelter’s winter season. I’ll do my best not to feel embarrassed by those coming in to shelter for the night — men and women who were probably out there Monday morning in that driving rain, while I was at home feeling sorry for myself and cursing Pacific Power.