The street was dark and silent. A cold wind blew out of the north, brushing through dead branches scattered in piles across untidy lawns. For the first time years, I heard nothing. No cars. No music. Nothing but the wind. It could have been nine in the evening or two in the morning, but it was no time. The gray-green glow in the distance cast a pale illumination over the street. That was all.
Sound familiar?
Every time we invent something new, we tell ourselves that we are one step closer to mastering nature. Every year that passes, we forget a little bit of what lies under, behind and inside the world of light and warmth we've made. It wasn't enough for a giant, unstoppable wave to sweep across the ocean half a world away. It took an ice storm to remind us how fragile that world is. Do you understand how electricity is made, how it works and how to control it? I don't. Do you understand all the principles behind the wireless Internet? How about cable? The telephone? I don't. Do you know what makes a gas grill work? Or how to repair your car? Or how to make coffee without a coffee maker? I don't know those, either. And suddenly, I want to learn because I'm not the only one who can't light a kerosene heater. I don't think I'm even in the minority. I remember what happened last week, and I remember the chaos that ensued after. Not only do I not understand the workings of our machines, modern and primitive, but neither does my neighbor. or his neighbor. The number of people who know how, why and what to do seems to be decreasing with every passing year, and I fear a day when no one remembers how to use some of the more 'primitive' machines and devices. Why? Because there's this guy named Murphy, and he has these ideas about the way the universe works, and if he's right, that will be the very moment our faster, cleaner, quieter machines fail - or are knocked out - somehow. I don't want to be here when the pandemonium breaks out, but if I'm going to be here, I want to know how to fix things, make things, and so on.
There are people out there who don't know how to build a fire. People who don't know how to tell if meat is bad (especially chicken, and let me remind you, constant reader, what happens when you cook and eat spoiled chicken; botulism is nothing to sneeze at). People who don't know why it would be a bad idea to run their gas grill in their living room. Just one storm, and we're reduced to eating out of cans and shivering in the dark.
Or, at least, some of us are.
If you've ever doubted the power Mother Nature holds over us, take a good look at the events of the past few weeks. Nature has always had the power to take away our toys, and sooner or later, I promise you, she will. No one is going to take care of us. Except for us.
Hope the lights are back on where you live.