When a severe winter storm blew into town the other day, and every activity that was scheduled for the day got canceled, it seemed like a good time to re-examine my priorities.
Perhaps I should houseclean?
But with the power flickering on and off, I didn’t relish the thought of my duster poised over breakable knicknacks when the lights went out again.
Heaven knows I need clean laundry — but nothing is more off-putting than a washier’s-worth of damp, dirty clothes, getting moldier by the minute, waiting for the power to come back on.
Sometimes I cook, on the gas-powered stove. But all I really wanted to do was just curl up on my couch and watch TV.
So I compromised and watched a TV show about cooking.
It was “Chicken Three Ways:” sautéed, baked, and stir-fried in a wok. There were many steps, involving a lot of chopping — I do like watching a man while he cooks! — before the final assembly. “Now, watch this part very carefully,” said the chef, “because if you don’t do it right, the chicken comes out chewy and tasteless.” And then…
Bam! The lights went out. It was just for another moment — but I had forgotten what a prima donna our cable box can be.
The lights came right back, but there followed a succession of error messages on the TV screen. “Your remote’s batteries are too low,” it said at first.
Then, “The connection from your set to your cable box is broken. Please check the set and try again.”
“Nothing is wrong with that cable box,” my husband assured me. None of us had moved in the past half hour — not my husband, not the cable box, not me.
Finally, it said, “You must dial your Parental Control Code.”
I have no parental control code, unless it’s “Never let them see you cry.” Or maybe, “Never say you’re sorry, it’s a sign of weakness.” Oh, wait, that’s Jethro Gibbs (Mark Harmon)’s Rule #6 — just in time because when the cable box finally re-awakens, we’re in the middle of a re-run of Harmon’s hit show, “NCIS.”
It’s coming back to me: Oh, this is a good episode! I remember just enough to know that I liked it… but not enough, apparently, to ID the murderer. Is it the apparently sincere senior officer?
The grieving spouse? Or the oddly clumsy bank teller? I remember just enough to know I was wrong about one of them — but which one?
Bam again. Again the lights flicker.
But we’ve 15 minutes left in the show, so even if the cable limps back slowly, surely I’ll have time to see who the murderer was? But this time the box takes even longer, whining “It takes a few minutes to reboot.” Really?
My parents’ old TV with vacuum tubes and rabbit ears wasn’t as touchy as this!
My husband has a suggestion. “Judy, why don’t we just watch something from the DVR? That way, no matter what, at least the machine will still have the ending.”
He has good ideas every now and then. I give him some of the blanket, and we try again, with an episode of PBS’ “Father Brown.”
This plot has a lot of twists and turns. I’m glad to know the recording, at least, has the entire story.
Oh, no! What’s this ear-splitting noise? “Alert. This is a severe weather bulletin for the entire New Jersey area. Stay alert for floods in your area.” But we’re not in New Jersey, so why are they bothering me?
Turns out, the show was broadcast from New Jersey Public Television while the storm there was at its height; and between the nonstop audio and video warnings, the entire recording is unwatchable.
I switch it off. A good thing, too, because the wind has picked up and I think I hear something scraping against the house.
My husband goes to the nearest window to check, and something thuds to the floor. “There’s nothing wrong outside, Judy,” he says, “but why did you pile these boxes here?”
He picks one up to examine.
“Judy, they’re going to throw you out of the Luddite Club.”
“Why, just for trying to watch a simple re-run?”
“No, because these aren’t boxes. They’re books! And it hasn’t occurred to you once, this evening, to just sit down and open one!”
I hate it when he’s right.
