Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, February 21, 1994                   TAG: 9402240014
SECTION: EDITORIAL                    PAGE: A7   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Monty S. Leitch
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

POWERLESS

This column is one of those parts. I write on Thursday for publication the following Monday. "Today" is an illusion in this space. This column, in other words, exists in a time warp. In a wrinkle in time. In a blip along the time/space continuum.

I tell you this today (Monday) because today (last Thursday) I still have no power. I'm sincerely hoping that by the time you read this today (Monday), it will no longer be true.

Let me say first and straight out that everyone I've spoken with at Apco has been just as sweet as he could be. But our problem (today, last Thursday) is low priority: a single-home outage. In other locations, hundreds of people are still awaiting the repair of downed lines. They have to come first.

I understand. I don't like it, but I understand

Let me say second and straight out that this is not fun.

I hear some fellow Floyd countians, also powerless, have said on television that they're coping just fine, thank you very much. With their woodstoves humming and their children hauling water from the creek, they could continue to get along this way for months. Happily. Without blinking an eye.

I want you to know that those opinions are not shared by all of us powerless Floyd countians. I suspect, in fact, that the one or two Floyd countians heard to say that on television are the only Floyd countians who hold that ridiculous opinion.

And, in case you might have forgotten this in your luxurious light-filled homes, let me remind you - thirdly and straight out - that flushing is a necessity you don't want to live without for more than a few hours at a time.

Do you city dwellers even know whereof I speak? (I except from my scorn Blacksburg city dwellers.) Hooked up to powerful municipal water-supply systems and gas water-heaters, you suffered the loss of lights and television while continuing, happily, to flush. To bathe. To drink hot cups of tea. We who live by wells alone live otherwise.

Last Sunday, three days after the power went off, we filled our bathtub with chunks of ice thinking that the ice would melt and give us ample water for flushing. Today (four days later, last Thursday), ice still floats in the bathtub.

Consider the temperature in our bathroom. Sit on this awhile before firming up your opinion. Use your imagination. Ah. Now you understand. As I said, this is not fun.

But, you will protest, for generations our ancestors lived this way! Did they complain? Did they whine about cold bathrooms and cold feet? Where's your sense of adventure, you will say (you who have power, you who "suffered" through a mere 36 hours of flushing in the dark)?

All right. I'll stop whining. Here's what I've learned:

That a number of different kinds of stew can be cooked on the top of a kerosene heater. It takes a while, but it works.

That the dark of night is darker than anyone remembers.

That shadows cast by candles and kerosene lamps are sharp and huge and threatening. That dark corners are very, very dark. And that shadows and dark corners drive the cat mad.

That if the three quilts and the sleeping bag on the bed, combined with the sweatsuit, socks and wool sweater you're wearing, still aren't enough to keep you warm in the night, then the addition of a stocking cap and gloves just might do the trick.

That, given the above, it's a wonder any of our ancestors ever gave birth in the months of October or November. Use your imagination. Count. See what I mean?

\ Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.