If you want to find out what kind of power draw your appliances need, run your home on a generator for four days.Many folks have installed whole-house generators that automatically kick on when the power goes off. Some tell me the transition is almost unnoticeable.
While an excellent option, I’m okay with my ten-minute switchover. I keep two options available, with a third in reserve in the shed.
The small generator, the size of an airline carry-on, works for most of my needs: two thousand watts. It’ll run the fridge, a lamp, and the stereo. Much more than any cave dweller could ever dream about.
My stove runs on propane; I can cook anytime. In Maine, it’s the only option as far as I am concerned. Glass top stoves are undoubtedly easy to clean, but I like fire. Fire works; prove me wrong.
The three thousand-watt option is what I have been running on for over four days. I can’t say that I need more than that. I’ve only used about seven gallons of gasoline this week; I am sending my bill to the power company with a note at the bottom indicating they have five days to pay before I send it to collections.
The furnace runs, the lights, the television (even though cable has been gone since the beginning), and I can charge my devices and have a few lights on in the house. Oh, and the fridge and freezer; I’ve got a few pounds of discount pork and a Christmas roast to keep in tip top frozen condition.
When the Significant One flew in from points south, she immediately dug around the storage room for a cord long enough to plug in the lights on the Christmas tree; I predicted it to Ellie on the way to the airport.
“You wait and see; she’s gonna give us the devil for failing to run the lights when the generator is on; I’m telling you kid, we are in for it.”
Ellie merely stared at me, but I took it as acquiescence.
This morning, she inquired why I’d not moved the king-sized Keurig closer to the working outlets. I told her that the power draw on a coffee machine was ridiculous, and I’d been driving to the truckstop for coffee at three a.m. when I got up each day. I explained that it gives me an outing, and I like listening to people’s stories in the morning.
This morning, she toted the entire machine to the living area. In the interest of science, I told her to listen to the thrum of the generator when she turned it on.
It was an impressive display for the old Honda. It sounded like a lawnmower with a mouse nest in the air cleaner for a few minutes, but it brought the faux coffee maker up to temperature.
She dug around the fridge for a container of artificially flavored Christmas cream— peppermint, if you must ask. I’d seen it but pushed it back into the corner after she flew out a couple of weeks ago.
I thought elves had stored it here, but it was her.
“I got this for when the kids come down; they like cream in their coffee; I thought it would be fun. You didn’t open it, I see?”
“Forty-two years you’ve known me. The only time I get peppermint in my coffee is when you force me to shop in a department store close to Christmas. I chose it merely as anesthesia for the pain I felt during those dark times. It’s a once-a-year thing.”
I accepted a dollop this morning. It felt like an elf had somehow peed in my coffee, but with all the mayhem surrounding this week, I had no strength to stomp on her love of these little things, including all the holiday glee and glitter.
The generator continues running, and power has returned to homes about half a mile down the road. Indeed, it should be back on by Saturday.
Until then, early mornings will require the carrying of the Keurig or finding another cord that spans the twenty feet between coffee and no coffee. But cave dwellers invented the wheel for chores like this, so I might still go to the truck stop.
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,
TC