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.

Ice, ice baby

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” ― Edith Sitwell

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” 
― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

AUBURN, Maine — Those demented souls, who are still holding out for a white Christmas or want to go walking in a  winter wonderland should visit the Pine Tree State, which is now freeze-dried thanks to a three-day ice storm which has pulled the plug on 100 hundred towns across the state. 

There is nearly an inch of ice on wilting limbs, and we all know how that goes — badly. 

If you want to take your chances on I-95 and don't mind bouncing off guard rails as you slide up the interstate, bring your skates or a dog sled. Everything has been coated with dangerous, solid ice. You can take in spectacular views of trees bowing to Mother Nature and electrical fires as limbs come crashing down on droopy wires. For more spectacular views, you might see transformers bursting like the rockets red glare and witness neighborhoods descend into darkness.

The police scanner is alive with mayhem. Numerous reports of limbs and downed wires are keeping police and fire departments rushing through the snow on eight-cylinder cruisers. There is no rest for weary Central Maine Power crews who have the nerve to repair power lines in the cold, damp dark.

Right now, there are 30,000 of us sitting in the cold dark and shouting obscenities that can be heard for miles around central Maine. A passing Central Maine Power truck brings us to the window and hope. The F-word is the  adjective of the day. Sentences contain three or four of the most reviled word in obscenity's lexicon. We have been stuck indoors for nearly 48 hours as we tend to our wood stoves and generators. 

You take your life into your own hands when you walk to the car or go shopping. My walkway is a miniature ice rink without a Zamboni.

If you are driving, keep an eye for downed wires and remember no power line is safe to touch — ever! Central Maine Power has been reminding Mainers of the dangers of touching a power line for years. 

No kidding! Thanks for the tip!

I am witnessing my second ice storm in the Pine Tree State. In 1998, the rented house I was living in went dark for nearly five days. This family of three was offered a place to stay in front of a warm fireplace at a friend's home for the night. We woke up early and returned to our house, which now resembled an igloo surrounded by sheets of ice.

My son was two years old, and I wasn't about to risk his health. It was time to retreat and live to fight another day with my shovel and rock salt.

That's when we decided to abandon the place and headed down a dangerous I-95. We were like refugees as we fled the cold and ice. My mother, who is no longer alive, opened the door that morning. Her jaw dropped and her eyes nearly popped out her head when she saw us on her doorstep. This family of three was seeking warmth and a hot meal.

That night, I was called back up to Maine to put out the Sun Journal. For the first time in the paper's history, we could not get the newspaper out the night before when the ice storm got its icy hands around the Pine Tree State.

In just 18 hours, I traveled back and forth to Maine to get the edition out on the streets, logging some 470 miles. 

Two days later, the landlord had the rented house up and running with generator. There was heat in the building.

Today, the ice storm of 2013 is like '98's kid brother. It isn't spectacular and we have only lost power three times for about three hours. It is not a bust, though. The city of Bangor might not get power back for nearly a week.

We have been lucky in the Lewiston-Auburn area. Let's just hope Santa won't slide off a roof and hita tree during each rooftop landing. I hate to see the cherubic fellow injure himself on that special night.

The lights are on at my home in Auburn, but all that could change with the drop of a limb.