I felt the sticky, crunchy crack as I opened my eyes, while my mind came to life after a night of very strange dreams brought on by too much food consumed with abandon at the church potluck.
The icy cold in the house was the kind of cold that only people in cabins are suppose know. Then I hazily remember the unwanted fact that I am without heat and have been for some seven days running. The old tired furnace it’s brain perhaps fried tries like a hero to awaken a flame but as soon as it fires it falls back to sleep. “I can relate my old friend.” But right now my bank account says you will stay cold for awhile.
When I have valiantly managed to open my eyes the argument starts.
“I think I’ll just lie here awhile” “You have many things to do” It’s a holiday take a break” “Maybe I’m missing something”. Finally the pain that is the only thing really awake in this icy chill house, wins the argument it never entered. I brave coming out of the covers and run at a slow hobble to the room everyone knows. As I read the last story in Grisham’s new book my mind starts to whir like an old factory on Monday. With well worn machinery clunking and banging and springing to life the thoughts for today begin to clock in. We’re going to Sheri and Shawn’s for Thanksgiving Dinner. Thanksgiving? It’s Thanksgiving 2009 wasn’t ’08 just the last week?
My mind ingloriously wins the battle and with groaning opposition the old body stands on it’s feet. My body cries “oil can” as it descends the mountain of carpeted steps. Set the tea pot to boil, take all your meds, the same old routine set in motion each day. Another gaping, morning breath yawn, another stretch of my quarrelling body and it’s off to the door. One of my life’s greatest pleasures awaits in the gray cold, waiting for my arrival and even calling my name. My own personal copy delivered each day right to my doorstep. I need not even take a step out the door, what great aim and delivery it’s always in reach.
I bristle with horror at what greets me this day. My black and white treasure sits strapped to the back of a grotesquely huge bundle of slick and brightly colored ads. Looking very anemic and weak and with a sign of surrender it’s even bent at the middle where a wide rubber band holds my newspaper to this bundle of ads like a cowboy on a huge bucking bull. The news and concerns of the day with really no hope are still trying to shake off the incessant need for more stuff.
Strapped to it’s back like a grotesque sucking leech draining every last drop of what’s really important sits this bundle of ads throbbing and pulsing with a faint hum. It beckons all comers with promised delight. “Just charge it” the hideous mass croons. “After all it’s your family”. With a creaky old voice it accuses “what will people think if you only get what you can afford” With the voice of a news commentator it cries “do your part” “help the economy” “these deals won’t last long”.
With a voice sweet like honey it promises glorious pleasures of PCs and iPhones(I bought mine last week). iPods and game stations, TVs with screens the size of garage doors. Would our ancestors be shocked at the size of the screens? Would they reel and faint hearing we spent a thousand bucks on it? Would they think us even bigger fools yet to know that we charged it? and continue to grow our debt. Would they really consider our standard of living better than theirs? Would we be envied by anyone over 10?
I would like a new plasma since mine was ripped off a year or so back. But after witnessing the horrible sight of my beloved newspaper’s life being sucked out by the slippery, shiny ads. I’ll go make some sweet potatoes and ham and head to my daughter’s house for a great time. It won’t cost a thousand and it won’t grow the debt. It will never wear out and it’ll be remembered for years.
We only have one Thanksgiving 2009 let’s make it count.
