Toward Yesteryear

Dear Anna,

How long has it been since I actually wrote you a letter by hand? Years, for sure. Remember those little notes that I would send you? The ones where I would draw wildflowers and butterflies in the margins? And include uplifting thoughts to help you through your busy workday? So long ago! Before either of us had discovered e-mail. I certainly enjoyed writing those letters. As I penned those messages, I always imagined your soft face, framed by your fine brown hair, and your lively hazel eyes.

Well, Anna, it seems that life demonstrates again that it tends to flow in circles, or more accurately a long and irregular spiral. I recall all those discussions we used to have about life philosophies. Life, of course, acts. We can believe all we want that it will move forward in a certain direction, and then something comes along to remind us that it can, without advance notice, change at any moment.

Just as I hung my hands over the computer keyboard to type out a note to you, the electrical service failed. Now, I sit in the dark with two little candles flickering on my old dining table, and can't help this stark feeling that, perhaps, we're seeing the beginning of the end of the "new" way of doing things. We're entering a new era, I suspect, and we'll have to adapt to yet another "new way." And this new way looks like it may be similar to the "old way" that, currently, seems like a distant memory.

Oh, I'm sure the power will return to California at some point, Anna. We've all been through blackouts throughout our lives. And, in this case, the grid doesn't appear to be damaged. Stars fill the sky. There has been no storm to crack power poles, no earthquake to shake lines to the ground. No, Anna, this appears to be classic load-shedding. An all-too-familiar rolling blackout. I wish I knew more, but my usual source of information is, of course, down—the internet. I should try to find that emergency radio. Maybe when I'm done penning this letter.

"Load shedding?" you ask. I can still hear your voice so clearly. That sweet, soft tone that enthralled my young ears. Yes, Anna, even in the vast, powerful United States, we aren't immune from the consequences of a strained energy supply. Here in little Ukiah, I'm probably the victim of the demand from the masses who live just to the south, in the dynamic and energy-hungry San Francisco Bay Area. Perhaps this is due to an increase in heating demand from a recent cold spell. Summer has forgotten to arrive, that's for sure! I suspect that we might have a frost here, under that clear, cold sky. And with natural gas in short supply due to ever-diminishing production despite an ever-increasing number of new well-heads, the price sure has escalated. Those natural gas outages in So Cal weren't just quirks. I'm sure much of the remaining supply is being allocated to emergency services first, and other customers second. As a result, I can only guess that many people have switched to portable electric heaters. Which might have put an enormous strain on the electricity supply. Now many of us sit in the dark, and become increasingly cold.

In fact, I just donned another blanket. That beautiful cover that you made for me during our long honeymoon. The one decorated with carefully-cut fabric leaves in all shades of autumn warm--red, orange, yellow. The lively cloth foliage is hard to see in the dim light. But even with diminished presence, the promise of a toasty reprieve from the chill is reassuring. Ah, yes, Anna, I can see your wry smile. Indeed I should have bought some wood for my little fireplace, the one that has been unused for perhaps a half-decade. I recall how you loved fires. They so fit with your idea of romance. Feel free to laugh at me now, for I'm now wishing I shared your romantic sense—I should have been more sympathetic to the simple joys you found in life. I'd at least have more warmth! And from more than one source.

What an amazing, and frightening time we live in, Anna. Peak oil and peak natural gas, as they go through their uncompromising arc of depletion, have now bumped us down the comfort scale. Load shedding used to be a problem for the poor, or so-called "developing" nations, only occasionally showing up in the developed world due to very--how should I put it?--interesting circumstances. The local news agencies have been failing us over recent years, only rarely reporting the ever-increasing occurrences of power interruption in developing nations. And even more rarely portraying the situation within its broader geopolitical framework despite a strong interdependence between nations. Thus failing to show us how the problem has been spreading like a stealthy disease: South Africa, the Philippines, Pakistan, India, Colombia, to name just a few places that have been suffering increasing hardship. As the price of fossil fuels escalated since the early part of this decade, many of the poorer nations have been struggling to keep power plants in operation, and maintaining vulnerable distribution grids. Now it looks like the load-shedding problem has migrated up the international ladder of affluence and is hitting the "first world."

I had to smile after writing the above paragraph. Yes, Anna, I certainly haven't lost my enthusiasm for the subject of energy production. I recall you reminding me more than once that I often got carried away with that topic. In front of your carefully-made romantic fires, or at dinner parties, or even on evening strolls through the park, where a simple lamp alongside a path would bring to my mind thoughts of electron flow and hydroelectric dams. Sometimes you just wanted to talk about more personal things. Concrete, down-to-earth things. Like plans for our next vacation. Or events in our friends' lives. Or our recent adventures in the workplace. Vividly, I recall how the little stories I told about my childhood would keep you deeply enthralled. I was a bit of a wild-child. I now understand how my adventures would interest you, sweet Anna, the girl who always wanted to please her parents. I should have accommodated you more often, and listened to your own stories with as much care as I put into my work on energy. You always had a thoughtful approach to life. And we certainly had the ability to talk about many things when we were young. What happened? I guess we changed. Just like the world is changing before our very eyes. Or, perhaps more so, we were too busy with our extremely active progress-driven lives to pause, and explore the very things that had brought us together in the first place.

How I wish I could sit next to you now, Anna, and tell you more of those stories from my boyhood. To simply sit close to you, and feel your warmth under the pretty blanket of dancing autumn leaves. To simply hold your hand--hopefully it would be one of those times when your fingers were actually warm! How such small digits ever retained heat still amazes me to this day. Yes, Anna, with someone near, someone whom I could talk to, the dark would be much less intimidating.

As it is, I don't even have a cat! It's just me, and my tiny, old house. And your lovely blanket. I guess writing to you helps. I hope you're okay down there in Monterey. Maybe you still have electricity. I'm not sure--without a doubt the greater Bay Area's in the dark, or there wouldn't so many crisp, clear stars in the sky. In any event, I suspect the power will be up and running again sometime after sunrise. We will then resume our normal lives. Until the next hiccup. And, I'm sure, power interruptions will increase in frequency and duration over the years. At some point, what passes for normal will look quite different from what we've experienced up to the present. I hope social unrest during this critical transition doesn't cause serious problems. How people will react to fear--fear about the gigantic unknown that the energy downturn poses--is my biggest concern as we enter this uncertain time.

Feel free to send me your thoughts. I wish you well, Anna. Know that I'm thinking about you, and if you ever need assistance at this important juncture in history, I will be there for you. As you can easily tell, I've never really stopped loving you. Maybe, as the world changes, and the pace of our lives slows to a more sane level, we will discover some of that magic spark that so captured us decades ago. The end of the industrial age could very well have its perks.

May the US Postal Service continue to run for a long time.

Take care, Anna,

Your good friend, Anthony