At eight o'clock, our lights went out.
The kids didn't mind as much as I'd thought - Rosey sleeps with a crib aquarium (a hold-over from her 'little girl' days) and Cass just opened his curtains to let a little light in the room - and I went around switching everything off and realizing how spooky-still the house is without machines humming and banging and whooshing and talking.
Okay, the last one was the television. Only a few of the other machines talk.
I curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and the lap-top (runs on batteries!) and tried to remember how the damned thing worked. That took awhile. Then I spent about twenty minutes going through my old files I had on it, realizing it had been over a year since I'd last used this beastie....
And then it was 8:22. Time goes slowly when there's nothing going on.
Tea! Tea was good. Hot sweet milky tea. Which was all gone. I should have put the kettle on the woodstove. Damn.
The rest of the hour, I watched the fire, remembering the first year B and I had moved into this house. It had been quiet then too, less furniture and animals and kids, simpler and less cluttered. A year of going to bed early, to talk and laugh into the night, establishing habits that would set the tone for our lives together.
We were so connected.
9:09. I yawned and went to go hunt up a nightgown, wincing at the bright light searing my eyelids in the bathroom. After an hour, I preferred the dark.
A quiet, more connected life. It sounded like a good prescription for everyone.
Maybe (just maybe) Earth Hour was the start of that.