Lights out

I must carry destruction karma with me. Just two weeks ago, the day I was scheduled to depart from Boston, a major storm ripped through the North Shore knocking down trees, power lines, lamp posts outside my door and otherwise turning Beverly into Beirut. Yesterday was a repeat performance.

After shlepping over town in the driving rain to mail off transcripts, drop off dry cleaning, dump old electronics off in Levittown and treat myself to two new pair of shoes, I wanted to relax with a therapeutic activity. I decided to start baking Irish Soda Bread. Ever the messy cook, there was flour and sugar all over my kitchen but I was enjoying the activity which brought me closer to the homeland (albeit a bastardized version of it, since American soda bread is nothing like what's really made in Ireland.) Listening to the driving rain, I was just beginning to pour the buttermilk/egg mixture into the dry ingredients when lightning struck.

I was baking in the dark.

"This is no good," I thought. "I spend all this money on baking supplies just to have bread dough I can't cook. My Irish ancestors must be spiting me."

Standing there with white goop all over my hands, my first reaction wasn't to run for the flashlight. It was to call MSN, my Paula Deen, to ask whether I should leave the dough out or throw it in the fridge, even if it wasn't turned on. My sticky fingers dialed.

MSN said to leave it out since it was bread and would want to rise. But how long could it stay out before going bad? Who knows? I started to kvetch about how I'm going to take all this money and dump it in the garbage when Mother Dearest got on the phone with a great idea: go to M&P's (her sister) in Astoria to bake the dough.

Duh, why hadn't I thought of that.

But first I had to navigate my way through the dark so I could make some semblance of the apartment. I found the flashlight (thank goodness for solar power) but not the BBQ lighter for the Wal-Mart candles someone gave John and I for Christmas. I got the dough and my cast iron skillet in the car and off we went.

M&P not only let me cook my bread but we ordered pizza and gave me some company as we fought with Time Warner over sketchy On Demand service. Living in a new area alone is tough, but thank goodness for family I can lean on.

I told John next time there's a blackout he better be here. First time, shame on you. Second time, shame on me.