My parents came up to help in Child Relief Effort '05. Last year it was something involving 220 lines, washing machines, and a stiff distrust of landlords. This year it was the windows. It seems they realized that the only way to save me from an annual bout of pneumonia was to weatherproof the apartment. So they came unbidden, but much welcomed, with rolls of pink and paint scrapers--military drums a-rollin'.
But before taking the trip they must gird themselves. Our habits are very different. We live cold, silent lives in virtual dark, of virtual ice. They must suspect us of extreme laziness. I maintain that it's the oblivion of genius. Whatever it is, they come armed against it:
Gallons of fresh water--they have a mighty disdain for the city stuff
Blankets, gloves, sweaters--knowing full well that I refuse to pay the theiving bastards at National Fuel one red cent before mid-October.
Food--in the form of lunch meats, coffee-mate, tea bags (anything heavily salted or nonperishable--who knows how long they'll have to subsist in this state?)
Light--multitudes of tiny night lights for those midnight bathroom runs, and for the six o'clock hour when no true human under forty-eight should be awake.
Batteries--God forbid that our remote (remote?) should fail.
Tools--for the million, odd, unnoticed tweaks.
And I swear they leave crossing themselves and praying that they've saved us from one more winter of slow cold death in front of our respective screens.
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