NPR’s reporting shines a light in the Upside Down

"Natural disasters are terrifying - that loss of control, this feeling that something is just going to randomly end your life for absolutely no reason is terrifying. But, what scares me is the human reaction to it and how people behave when the rules of civility and society are obliterated." 

— Eli Roth

AUBURN — For two and half days, it felt like we were out of the loop after a nasty Nor’easter sideswiped Maine and left thousands of the state’s denizens groping in the dark the past week.

Just before I watched the lights fade from every room (thank you, Moody Blues), the annoying radio alarm sounded revelry at 6 a.m.

I bounded out of bed and told my annoyed wife that we still had power.

I should have kept my mouth shut.

Five minutes later, I saw a flash of light outside the bedroom window and watched the radio clock and night light go out.

Silence filled the room. 

The neighborhood went dark and I was drowning in anxiety, not knowing where my next cup of coffee would come from in these perilous and dark times.

We felt like we stumbled upon the portal to the Upside Down. I also realized I didn’t possess No. 11’s power turn the frigging electricity back on. 

“Oh damn it,” I said as I reached for the flashlight. More four-letter words followed when I bumped into objects along the way to a pitch-black kitchen.

Cable and Internet were out of action and a dormant coffee maker denied me my morning jolt of caffeine. 

The power was gone. I was unhappy, cold and the sudden quietness was already getting on my nerves.

My wife and I would snipe at each other by candlelight for the next two days. We hung out anywhere we could to get the Internet. We visited the Lewiston Library and drank coffee at Dunkin just for the WiFi. We were like wandering, energy vampires looking to suck up free Internet on somebody else’s dime.

We weren’t overreacting. News stories were breaking that Mueller and his team of lawyers started making arrests in the Russian controversy. We were gleeful that Mueller’s band of merry men were making headway, but we were still on the sidelines with no TV or Internet. 

That’s when we turned to National Public Radio for our news and a chance to cheer on Mueller for getting to the bottom of this mess that our president appears to ignore.

We commandeered our son’s ancient radio, stuck some batteries in the back and listened to “All Things Considered” and an endless stream of NPR stories about Mueller’s fearless exploits.

NPR was like another flashlight in our dark home.

For 60 hours, I lived in the murkiness of the Upside Down. I missed taking a warm shower and brewing a cup of that black gold that jump-started my mornings.

When the sun rose, I got the camera and took pictures of downed trees and power lines. Auburn was a mess and its inhabitants were in a bad mood.

So we waited impatiently as hoards of linemen descended on the Pine Tree State to help put lights back on in New England.

My tour of our wind-swept state was startling. The telephone pole near the end of my street had snapped in two and wires still were connected to the top half of the pole that was resting in the middle of the street.

Mother Nature had done a number on us.

But there was hope — if you believe in hope. Linemen were working on the broken pole for two days. By Wednesday, they were mounting the relays on the top half, and wouldn’t you know it, the power returned in the morning and all was well in my neighborhood by evening.

The TV and Internet came back to life in our home and there was warm water running in the sink to wash the damn dishes.

We were fortunate. There are still over 5,000 people wandering in the dark in Maine. I am sure the level frustration for those Mainers is in the red. 

For us, life was good again and we were grateful to those men who work with electricity and brave danger to put the state of Maine back on line.

And shout-out to NPR for keeping two people informed after two dark days. And with power on, the portal to Upside Down has been closed — for the moment.

Border-ing on insanity

They are closing the book on Borders.

It is not a happy chapter for employees or a book lover like myself who enjoyed the company's vast selection of publications, music and dependable customer service.

Borders' smorgasbord of fine coffee and food was worth spending a few bucks, too. And if a Borders' customer specialist couldn't help you find a book or CD on the shelf, they would order the item online.

For this family of three — all voracious readers — Borders was worth the excursion to hang out at its Brunswick and South Portland stores. We made a day of it and it gave us an excuse to nurse a strong cup of coffee while my son perused books, and there was always the $5-and $10-pile of discounted kids and cook books. 

We often met kind, well-read people who ignored their laptops, IPods and television sets for an afternoon of browsing through hardcovers and paperbacks. We talked face to face with other book lovers instead of communicating online or sending mundane text messages filled with misspellings and acronyms.    

Borders was paradise for a library lover like myself. I know Borders was wired for the Internet, allowing college students to commandeer cafe seats and sip coffee for hours in front of their personal computers.

No thanks! I was there for a good book. 

Sitting in front of a damn computer screen to check out Facebook or view another useless video on YouTube at Borders was a straight waste of my time. Who cares what's going on across the Net. I was surrounded by books of literature, science and history. My phone was off. I was enjoying Borders' library-like atmosphere, thinking about my next muffin, and debating which history book I should read.

At home, technology takes a back seat to a great book. Our cable TV provides only 12 channels (there really is nothing on), there are no video games, and our cell phone costs $10 with no contract. We own a Mac and I love this bucket of bolts, but it is not a book. I don't need to be multi-tasking or checking my email every minute of my short life.

If you want to reach me, call or even better — write me a letter and I will include you in my will.

You see, Borders had it all — just like Bogie and Bacall in "Key Largo."

So what the hell happened here!

I realize there are a handful of reasons why Borders will go dark. There's the Internet, e-book readers (a real waste of money), computer notebooks, and people who appear more uninformed and find reading a book a chore. There are so many high-tech distractions that it has made it impossiblefor all of us — especially members of the point-and-click generation — to concentrate on devouring a hardcover.

My mother believed every household should be littered with books, newspapers and magazines. She knew there was pertinent knowledge tucked away in all those pages of type. She lived long enough to witness high technology take a foothold in our daily lives, and she lamented when newspapers put their stories on line. I marched right in step with her keen observations. She marveled at a book's clever jacket cover and its strong binding. She thought the Internet was a quick fix and lacked depth, and boy do I agree with her.

Books give you a handle on the Cuban missile crisis or the decisive Union victory at Gettysburg. When I read a book about a certain event or period of history, I know a writer has done his homework and put a lot of blood, sweat and tears into his work. To understand these moments in history takes more than a visit to Wikipedia or some obscure web site.

That's where Borders came in and sold great, big books chronicling great, big events in our brief lives.

I know you are reading this blog via the Net and wondering what the hell is this hypocrite talking about when it comes to the demise of Borders. Well, I write and edit for a newspaper. It is a real, honest to goodness broadsheet. I enjoy holding a newspaper and a book. I like the feel of these literary works in my hand and their portability.

And that is why I refuse to read everything on line or my eyes would bleed.

I will miss Borders and those Sunday afternoons chasing after my son, who often found himself lost in isles of books and magazines. 

I will miss the coffee, too.

For those of you who view my stuff on line, I thank you

Now you can go back to that literary work you were reading, but that book will no longer be available at Borders — and that is a travesty for book lovers who cherish the printed word — and good coffee.