Little Red Hen StudioLots to do, one chick to do it

I almost didn’t go to see the Ridiculusmus version of The Importance of Being Earnest last night in Adelaide. Yesterday was one of the city’s hottest days in living memory—45.7°C/114°F—and the heat made me anxious. But if nothing else, I needed to get out of my house.

I needed the laughter, too—it was still over 40°C/104°F when we went into Her Majesty’s Theatre before 8 pm and probably not under 40°C when we came out. On the sidewalk among all those theatregoers in their smart, light dress, I had the feeling we were fiddling while Rome burned—attending frivolous entertainment when clearly, the end of the world was nigh.

One of my companions surprised me by voicing the same feeling, just as I was thinking it, and the others in our group quickly agreed with her. It’s not that any of us think the world is literally ending, but it’s so bloody, wrongly hot that it sure feels that way. I found it interesting not only that others feel this way but also that they’d feel it strongly enough to share the thought aloud.

As I drove home, the streetlights seemed more warmly orange than ever, and I thought, wouldn’t it be good if they shut them off at night? It would make things feel cooler, and save on power, too.

Just as I crossed into my neighborhood, feeling glad that we had enough power to run our cooling system, a handful of streetlights blinked out.

Turning the corner into my darkened street, where not even the windows were lit, I began to think of the occasional brown-outs we experienced in our old neighborhood in Adelaide, and on hot, humid nights in Brooklyn, where we didn’t even have an air conditioner. (Imagine!)

Entering the house, I heard a beeping noise. The Dr emerged from the kitchen, flustered. ‘The fridge won’t work’, he said. ‘There was a big bang, and then all the lights went dim.’

There was just enough power to give us hazy brown household light—not enough for even the fridge to run. I went outside and chatted for a while with my Yugoslavian neighbors across the road, who were hand-watering their small garden in the dark. ‘It’s all I could do!’ said Lana. ‘I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t just stay inside and sit there.’ We talked about hot weather, and the snow that we both miss, while heat lightning flashed in the distance. The air was sauna-dry, and just as hot.

As I got ready for bed, chatting with the Dr, the last brown lights blinked out, and the neighborhood was powerless. I slept for a while, but moved into the cooler living room much later, and as I lay on the couch not sleeping, I thought, we’ll deal with it. Plenty of Australians before us have managed in heat like this or even hotter. It’s not comfortable, but we’ll be OK. And there must be lessons I can take from this.

I felt strangely calm, for a born worrier. Adelaide has had record-breaking heat each summer for several years now. If this is the way is is going to be, our choice is to leave, or to adapt.

We’ve recently bought a grey-water bin for recycling our laundry water onto our garden, and we’ve wanted to add more rainwater tanks to the house for a while. Now’s the time. And also, we will need to get serious about solar panels.

I thought again of Nero fiddling, and my neighbor, who has in her life faced much worse than power blackouts, gardening in the dark. In the face of powerlessness, people seek activity. When something is much larger than you are, you cope the best you can.

Just at that moment, the power blinked on. The dishwasher sang a happy tune, the fridge beeped to attention, and I could hear the neighbor’s air-con unit humming again. I turned on our own cooler and, after a quick visit to the Bureau of Meteorology for the Adelaide conditions (34°C/93°F at 4 am), I went back to bed. At least I was no longer without power.