Windows shook, the roof was grinding and everywhere the gale carried the unmistakable sound of stuff smashing into other stuff
“I CAN’T SEEEEEEE” came the sudden wail of eight-year-old Oscar from the next room and I knew it wasn’t going to be so simple. It was around the same time I became fully aware of the storm outside. Wild wild wind was furiously battering at our house. Windows shook, the roof was grinding and everywhere the gale carried the unmistakable sound of stuff smashing into other stuff. Oscar wailed again. “DAAAAADDDDD!”
My wife was away that night, working up in far northern Victoria, and thus was spared both the storm and the four-foot wriggly worm that now insisted on taking up her space in my bed. I’m going to honest though, as the storm wore on I began to be glad of his company, wriggles or no. Perhaps danger loves company, who knows.
We awoke to a house without electricity, or internet or any easy way to make a bit of toast and cup of coffee. The storm had eased by now, though it was still wet and very woolly. Luckily we suffered no damage, but I could see over at the neighbour’s that some of their trees hadn’t survived the night.
School buses were off I soon learned, and so Taxi Dad dutifully donned his uniform, stopped the meter, and got the kids off to school. Well, that was the plan, however at Oscar’s primary school I was greeted by a suspiciously smiling Principal who informed me that due to a lack of electricity they couldn’t possibly teach my son my anything useful. “Take him back!” she giggled, her hair flying freely in the wind. I expect she immediately went to the staff room to crack open a bottle of champagne with the other happy teachers. I had better luck with my daughter. Dropping her off at the front of the high school, I made sure I turned my phone off so no-one could call telling me to take her back home. Genius.
Oscar and I landed back in our powerless house by 10:00AM. Normally I’d have been in my own class in that moment, but no power means no Zoom, and to be honest, despite the fallen trees and lashing rain that still whipped around the countryside, this was the first glimmer that the day might not be so bad after all. My computer monitor, that glowing blob all too often in such close proximity to my head, now sat dead and black and accusing: “Why aren’t you staring at me?” I ignored it and looked around the living room. Honestly, it has been in a better state. Covid lockdowns and an abundance of schoolwork have left us as screen poking Internet zombies and it seems this is not the best head-space for housework. So we cleaned, Oscar and I. Bedrooms were tidied, carpets were swept (just like the old days before Mr Hoover!) and just for good measure I completely re-arranged the lounge room. The early afternoon brought a much-needed touch of sunshine, but still no power, so I fired up the camping stove and made myself the first coffee of the day. Oscar even scored himself a hot chocolate.
It’s funny how quiet things are when the power is out. The fridge is a constant background noise, and of course my computer is usually on; its fans whirring away as I tap at the keyboard. Not today. Today the house was clean, and quiet. Quiet like I hadn’t known in a long time. Like everyone else, we’ve spent a lot of time in our house recently, but this was a very different experience. I hesitate here because this isn’t that kind of blog, but it was almost a spiritual experience. For the first time in a long time, my house didn’t feel like an artifact of modern convenience – it felt like a cave, a warm and safe and peaceful cave.
Of course this was a cave which contained a big white box of meat that would go rotten if modernity didn’t reassert itself soon, but in that moment, in that silent, tidy room, playing a card game with my son, I learned that for all our love of our modern gadgets, sometimes the simple life is… actually, scratch that. The internet just came back up and I’ve missed a whole day of witty Reddit posts, cat memes and the other half of that abhorrent Jimmy Carr special. Catch you later.