Candles Became Useless

After publishing my last blog I returned to the "springish" area of Houston to find electrical chaos. The lights of the Shell Station flickered on and off, and the store owner's face read like a PHD browsing Hooked-On-Phonics.

"How much money will we loose if our generator goes out?"

I ventured to the Wal-Mart across the street to buy some Red Diamond Tea. The lines were long. The stock of tea, all gone. I settled for two bottles of lemonade and shuffled through the express checkout. I loathe Wal-Mart for its mass consumerist appeal, but am constantly drawn by convenience. So much so that I resolved to stop at the in-store McDonald's to shovel processed food into my precious temple.

As I waited for my greasy poison, I sat with a friendly Wal-Mart employee whom I always talk with. We observed the commencing chaos with splendor. The lights flicker. She hopes the power stays off so she can go home, while I hope to go home to find the lights on.

She's from the islands, and told me how her mother taught her how to survive when the comforts of domestic society fail. What foods to cook. What things to do. I found her insight priceless as people continued to pour in. A woman enters with her butt cheeks leaving nothing to the imagination. My friend says:

"And they wonder why they get raped. A woman with less than her got attacked in the parking lot once, and the cops did nothing because she had on nothing," say she.

The World Turns.

I get in my car, and shove would-be potatoes into my mouth. My brights are on in a selfish attempt to make up for the lack of street lights, and I arrive home. The moonlight was so beautiful. It was so subtly bright that one could see where they were going. However, the pockets of shadows made faith necessary.

I entered the house to find my father and sister by the candle light. Not television. Not the internet. Just them. I was so zealous about the situation. I imagined the night with guitar for entertainment, and conversation. My father's obsession with the 60's horror soap opera called Dark Shadows now sat in the shadows of a lifeless DVD player. My sister left us for a more comfortable experience.

In this darkness I saw appreciation for the precious commodities which we overlook every second. The brilliance of the light of day meant so much more as I sat by dim candle fire, but the beauty of night illumination has the chance to show its character. Any entertainment would have to be worked for, whether it was the strum of the instrument or the turn of a book's page.

The room filled with light. I dull roar of the air conditioning breathing resuscitation. Candles became useless. My father grabbed the remote, and turned the DVD player on.

"Just one episode tonight," says he.