Matter of Laugh or Death

By Bill Dunn

Interesting observations on this thing we call life

THERE’S SNOW PLACE LIKE HOME

During the recent snow storm, my family gathered in the living room to watch TV. We enjoy watching the local stations during a storm. The weathermen (sorry, I can’t bring myself to say weatherpersons—it just sounds too weird) go into such a frenzy when it snows. You’d think they never saw snow before, or else they’re under the impression that no homes in the state were constructed with windows and unless they shout late-breaking bulletins to us from the TV (“Yes, indeed, it’s still snowing out here! Back to Al and Denise in the studio”) we might foolishly plan a picnic outing at the beach.

As we sat there, suddenly the whole house was plunged into darkness. An awkward moment of silence was broken by four voices saying in unison, “Hey! What the…?”

Knowing that people tend to panic in situations like these, I stood up from the couch and calmly said, “Omigod! What happened?! What’s going on?! Will the TV be off ALL NIGHT?!!”

After groping through the darkness (I swear they must sharpen coffee table corners—my shin is still black and blue), I triumphantly grabbed the flashlight in a kitchen drawer. The batteries, which had been sitting patiently since early in the Reagan administration, had about two minutes of dull glow left.

No problem, I thought, that’s plenty of time to find a few candles. Unfortunately, it’s not quite enough time to scrounge up some matches. I never thought I’d wish someone in my family was a smoker. (“You’re in high school now,” I said to my eldest daughter. “Whattaya mean you don’t smoke?”)

“Honey, make a note to stock up on batteries and matches,” I said to my wife.

“Let’s go to my mother’s house,” she replied.

“Nah, the roads are bad.”

Light was actually a minor problem. Water, on the other hand, was a biggie. No electricity means no well pump. No well pump means no water coming into the house. I remember what my brother-in-law said when we bought this place. “Hey, you got the best of both worlds, city sewers and well water. Perfect!”

Yeah, Morty? Not so perfect. Not when the lights go out. Not when everyone suddenly gets real thirsty. Not when everyone needs to flush the toilet. There is nothing more disheartening than listening to the toilet flush, and then…silence. Not a single drop of fresh water to recharge Ol’ Reliable.

“Honey, make a note to stock up on bottled water,” I said to my wife.

“Let’s got to my mother’s house,” she replied.

“Nah, the roads are bad.”

After an hour, things seemed to be under control. We had some candles—enough, at least, to keep from crashing into furniture. We had a gourmet dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Fig Newtons. We brushed our teeth with Ginger Ale. We flushed the toilet with orange juice and windshield fluid. (Don’t even ask what that looks like.)

We also had a small transistor radio which informed us of all the late-breaking bulletins. (“Yes, indeed, it’s still snowing out here! Back to Ray and Diane in the studio.”)

After tucking both kids into bed, I tried to read awhile by candle light, but Abe Lincoln I’m not. I figured the best thing would be to go to sleep and hope the power company turned us on by morning.

It was about 1 a.m. when I woke up feeling chilly. I thought my wife had hogged all the covers again. No, that wasn’t it. Who in the world would leave a window open? I crawled out of bed and when my foot hit the icy floor, it suddenly dawned on me: no power means no furnace! It was 48 degrees in the house and falling fast.

“Honey, make a note to remind me to get that kerosene heater working again,” I said to my wife.

“Let’s go to my mother’s house,” she replied.

“Nah, the roads are bad.”

The four of us bundled up in long johns, sweaters, ski hats, and mittens and spent the rest of the night huddled under blankets in the living room. We took turns shivering, dozing, praying, and whining.

When daylight finally came, my wife went to start the coffee maker. “Oh no,” she called from the kitchen, “We can’t make any coffee.”

She came back into the living room shaking her head. “Too bad, dear,” she said. “I know how much you like coff— Hey! Where is everyone?”

“Let’s go to your mother’s house!” I yelled from the garage as I started the car.

“My, what a wonderful idea,” my wife said with a smile. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

©2001