Last night I thought I wouldn't be writing to you this morning. In the early evening, as I was watching the Michigan-Florida State basketball game, the breaker suddenly tripped in the back room, and the screen went blank. "[Expletive]," I said. The power seemed fine everywhere else, so clearly we had problem different from the last big rainstorm/electrical crisis situation.

Tom went downstairs to look at the box, and discovered, to our horror, that water was leaking into it from the outside. He called the power company, which refused to deal with it, even though the fault was the seal around their own meter connection. Then he called our electrician, who told him "Pack it with a shit-ton of silicon on a dry day," which was sensible but currently there was a heavy rainstorm, so first things first. Tom went outside and taped up the gap, and then we spent last night in the dark, eating Sichuan takeout and playing Yahtzee and listening to the rain pound. Have I told you how much I love my wood stove? And my calm, handy partner? Although I also loved hearing him yell at the power-company guy. Oy.

Still, I think I'm developing chronic trauma about electrical problems. As soon as Tom told me about the water in the box, my stomach started hurting. And I still feel pretty anxious. Here's hoping I can get back on track and have a useful day.