I spent earth hour at the home of the high mistress of candles: my sister. Sure enough we were bathed in the light of numerous wax creations – which still wasn’t enough light for my sister.  So she periodically made quick forays into the kitchen to furtively open the fridge door to bask in its eerie unearth-houry glow. For tsk-tsking her breaching of the sacred earthing hour rules, I got called an Earth-Hour Nazi.

We were both supposed to be spending the evening at a get-together for a friend getting married soon but exhaustion got in the way.  So it was nice to spend some time relaxing in the dark – me curled on my sister’s couch, her cat (Luna Kukaracha) curled on an opposite chair lazily watching my daughter trying to hypnotize her with a fake plastic candle and my sister in the kitchen sneaking gulps of fridge light.  The rest of the fam were all out for dinner.  It was prime re-coup time and worth every minute of that 59 minutes of power-free time.  Yes, my sister put the lights on 1 minute early.

And no, I’m not an Earth-Hour Nazi.