Earthquakes test spirit of those we share community with that I felt it in my feet first and then I heard the roar.

I called my wife and daughter to the living room and we stood arm in arm under the door jamb, patiently waiting until the tremor passed.

My daughter was (forgive the pun) visibly shaken up and my wife, a Big Island native, was in shock.

They were the biggest earthquakes we had experienced. Pictures fell, vases tumbled and the dogs stayed by our side the remainder of the black-and-white day.

For all the good-natured ink, I can run more toward the melancholic than the jovial. Despite my best effort, I see more skin tags than beauty marks. My philosophy is to prepare for the worst but expect the best. Most times I adhere to the first half of that philosophy only to forget the latter.

So you can imagine my thoughts as we headed to Longs Drugs for extra batteries and a few candles. First, I doubted that the store would be open, but to my surprise, they were letting folks in one at a time. While I knew in my heart that Longs, the Camelot of drugstores, would never participate in price gouging, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Jason, our Knight Errant, actually directed us to sale items. Chivalry is alive and well.

Longs Drugs is just about five minutes from my home, but still I expected to fight traffic. I knew that folks would ignore the four-way-stop rule when signal lights are out. Again, to my surprise I found that my Kane'ohe community members were more than gracious and often surrendered the right of way to their fellow traveler.

The rest of the day was a slow march to nighttime, broken up by board games, catnaps and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. We were lucky. We actually had fun.

Well, my wife and daughter had fun — I lost every game I played.

Somewhere around 6 p.m., I noticed that my neighbor was out and about. I scurried over to his place and asked about the quake and how he spent the day. He noted that it was a big one, but that he spent most of the morning and afternoon napping and was getting ready to fire up the grill. He asked if I had anything I wanted to cook. I did not. I had thought of firing up my own grill earlier in the day, only to find that my propane tank was empty. So much for hot food. I asked if he wanted something cold to drink.

"As a matter of fact, I would," he said. I considered it an adult beverage rescue.

Later that night, after we ate our pork-and-bean sandwiches by candlelight, there was a knock at the door. There stood my neighbor, flanked by his girlfriend, holding three foil-covered plates. Under the foil lay the treasure; barbecued chicken, grilled potato (complete with sour cream) and a small green salad.

It had been just one day without power, but the hot meal meant the world to me.

My faith in mankind restored by a series of fortunate events, I realized again that I live in a technicolor world lit not by electricity but by the spirit of caring souls.

Michael DeMattos is a faculty member of the University of Hawai'i School of Social Work. He lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter and two dogs.