Pauline Nevins

I’ve aged 10 years in a week. I blame the weather.

Like residents east and west of the Sierra mountains, we’ve suffered a deluge of rain and snow, mostly snow. Trees stressed by droughts and now top-heavy with snow felled PG&E lines, leaving thousands without power.

Following last year’s power outages, we deprived our kids of their inheritance to purchase a mega-standby generator. It fires up the second the power goes out. The generator worked perfectly, except at night.

It was LOUD!

“We should be able to turn it off, “I whined to my husband, who apparently didn’t hear me above the football game, cranked to maximum decibels. I dug out the generator’s operation manual. Under the heading, “Shutting Generator Down While Under Load or During a Utility Outage” was a triangle with an exclamation mark and the word DANGER. I felt a twinge under my left eye. A companion bag was forming.

The manual directions cautioned “avoid equipment damage … follow steps below.” I read the list, flipped to the pages that identified the generator’s internal organs. Where was the “Main utility disconnect?” – the first step in shutting down the generator? I was at the kitchen table when I felt another twinge – this time under my right eye. Jim was in the living room cheering an interception. I gave up on the manual.

Bedtime. The generator was louder with the TV off. I’d plug my ears. ENT specialists have told me I have narrow tubes that require getting my ears sand-blasted every six months. This anomaly prevents insertion of standard ear plugs. Decades ago, I purchased custom-made ear plugs. They worked beautifully. I found them. The once-pliable plugs were as hard as granite.

I jammed two small cotton balls into each ear and placed a pillow over my head. I could still hear the generator. Maybe music would muffle the sound. I clicked on the bedside lamp and blew dust off the top of the clock radio. The plastic switch offered four choices: on, off, alarm and music. I slid the control back and forth. An ear-splitting rendition of “Silent Night” blasted into the room.

Ears plugged, radio low enough I could sleep yet loud enough to muffle the generator. I cheerfully plopped my head on the pillow. Out popped two cotton balls.

I awoke every hour. On the one hand, I was immensely grateful we had power. How many of my neighbors were out there freezing? No heat, no water if they were on a well. No way to offer help with phone lines down and ice-covered vertical driveways. Here I was, snug in my electric-blanket-heated bed, polluting the atmosphere with generator exhaust, probably ticking off the neighbors with the noise, and moaning about not being able to sleep.

Chris, the generator installer, returned my call about shutting down the generator. The manual, he says, pointedly, states the generator should be shut down after each 24-hour operation, to cool. And, it will save fuel. Check the oil, too. How do I shut it down? A pause. You lift the lid. You’ll see a red “Off” light. Press that.

It’s 7 o’clock, our new bedtime. Pitch black outside. Our house is built on the side of a hill. Very picturesque. The downside? The propane tank, the HVAC and the generator are installed on a slope. Jim has difficulty walking. Down the treacherously icy slope I slide. Generator off, I step tightrope-style across to the propane tank. I gasp. The gauge needle is below the red zone – one husband shower away from empty.

As I heave myself upward, I silently praise two lovely people who have assisted my fitness: inspirational yoga teacher Suzanne Grace and Hazel Haase, fearless leader of the New Comers and Neighbors hiking group. A blissful night’s sleep awaits.

Day six. Still no PG&E power. Time to turn on the generator. Chris said to check the oil. Do I pour the oil into the dipstick tube? I call Chris, who probably has me blocked. Left a message.

He calls back just as I don my climbing boots. Now, only use about one-eighth of the quart, he warns. Do not overfill. I swallow a lump. I planned on pouring in a quart. Do I pour it into the dipstick place, I squeak? A pause. I imagine him thinking, “Speaking of dips.” No, he says, his voice alarmingly calm. After you lift the lid, pull up the side of the generator. It will come up easily (Not!). You’ll see an orange plastic cap to the right of the dipstick. Unscrew that and pour in a little oil, then check the dipstick.

Done!

I press the green “On” light. The motor coughs and rumbles into action. Music to my sand-blasted ears.