So in the aftermath of the Halloween storm, J(esus)C(hrist)P(refers)L(ight) finally sends two trucks and seven men to restore my power. I learn of this while in the QUIET ROOM at the library via text from son-who-is-not-sleeping-at-noon. I'm writing, all my stuff flopped about on a chair and the floor and a small round table next to me. I text back I'll be home soon. Barely five minutes later, I get a second text saying the work is done. FIVE DAYS WITHOUT POWER?? FIVE MINUTES TO FIX?? Call me fussy, but when I pull into the driveway and see the way the wires are sloppily looped to the house, I go calmly ballistic. It's a Zen thing, supposed to keep your blood pressure normal and add years to your life. An old friend stops over with his chain saw to help clean up the storm debris. I make him walk down the street first and show him several places where an unknown lineman took pride in his work, where the wires are looped in circles, with clips at the compass points. I've taken many photographs of his work, as seen against a blue sky, reflected in puddles, and as shadows cast in snow. The way the wires are looped actually relaxes me, as if I'm in a room full of Monet's large water lilies. My friend tells me I'm the only woman, THE ONLY PERSON he knows who would find beauty in electrical wires. I can tell by the look on his face he is actually thinking of all the people he has ever known, and that's a lot because he's one of those extroverts who needs external validation all the time. That's fine with me, I seem to attract extroverts; I'm just not made that way, although I have my moments. But we get the tree limbs sawed up, stacked for winter wood, and then talk about a thousand things while I run my machines, washing a week's worth of dishes and clothes. All in all, a good day.