Brief interruption.

2003-08-14 at 7:16 p.m.

I guess it's a sign of how much we've come to rely on electrical whizbangs and doodads--all of my parents' phones are cordless, and so won't work without electricity. They live in Ann Arbor, outside of Detroit, so they're in the dark. Except my dad was in Buffalo today for business, and checked into the airport at 4:00. At 4:15, a voice over the loudspeaker came on to tell them all flights were cancelled. So he and his boss rented a car and are currently in the process of driving from Buffalo to Ann Arbor. But he called and checked in as he was driving through Cleveland ("It's very dark," he reported. In case you were wondering.)

My brother lives in Brooklyn and works in Manhattan. He was able to get through to me to leave a short message (of course it happened to be the 45 minutes where I was at the grocery store--dammit!) saying he was okay, and that "New York City is... kind of... weird today..." He has a way with understatement. Apparently, he can't get home tonight (no electricity = no subway = no get off island), but was able to find his wife and get to a friend's home somewhere in Manhattan and they found a falafel stand that was open and cooking. Hell, they're probably having a party of sorts, as all the Brooklynites and whatnot migrate to all the Manhattanite friends' abodes and someone breaks out the rapidly warming beers.

My mom, back in Ann Arbor, is the only one still unaccounted for. She was supposed to do a training session for new hires today, and no one's heard from her. Her cell phone doesn't have voice mail (who's ever heard of cell phones that don't have voice mail?? I ask you.) so I can't even leave a message to say, "Call your daughter! She just wants to hear your voice!"

The funny thing was, when I first heard about it, the whole electrical power grid failing thing, I was kind of amused. I mean, not only am I a continent away, right? And it's still daylight here and I'm studying for a math final while sweat drips down my back and life is sort of every-day normal. But at the same time, it's us living through our own 1965 power grid meltdown story, you know? Where Jay and Gail will get to tell their grandchildren (who probably won't care by then and will just roll their eyes) about Where They Were When The Lights Went Out, v.2003. And after the Big Scares in New York, it was kind of a relief that something this big would be so innocent (as I'm assuming until I hear otherwise).

But as the day goes on and my mom still doesn't call to check in--if only to ask if I have heard from Jay or Dad--the more uneasy I get. It gets a little less lighthearted with every passing hour as I imagine terrible car accidents on unlit highways or unfortunate OSHA incidents as she tries to find her way out of the store or random looting out in Onstead or... grisly and grislier.

I'm sure in 45 minutes I'll hear from her and she'll be having a good time playing cards with the Clarks next door or something, and I'll feel like an old-before-my-time worrywart. But in the meantime, an awful awful thought keeps poking through the back of my insistently-optimistic brain: "I'm really glad I talked to her last night and said 'I love you.'"

So, Mom, if somehow, you get connectivity? (yeah, I know, at all those wireless off-the-grid internet cafes you frequent?) and somehow you check my diary (which I'm not even sure you know about)?

CALL ME. And I love you. But CALL ME.

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