A few days before the year’s end, the good members of my family unit were reeling from the effects of cabin fever during a stretch of gray winter days. We’re feeling much better now; the sun is shining, and seratonin levels are through the roof. Here’s a rare glimpse behind the scenes at Higher Edison with a slightly-edited excerpt from our personal family blog. Enjoy.
Blame the cabin fever on a pernicious temperature
inversion—everything is gray, sloppy, and faintly stinky. The city
rebreathes its own stale exhalations. We slug through slimy humidity
while somewhere up in the stratosphere, above the inversion ceiling,
birds cavort in fresh, cold, crisp air. The sun disappeared hours and
hours ago. Inside, the walls inch closer together. Time has no meaning.
The boy, drunk on milk, sloshes charismatically around like a newborn
Dean Martin promising a hell of a party after the show. Piles of
laundry magically appear and vanish again like subatomic particles.
Afternoon passes. Our planned walk down to the library goes unrealized
and is never mentioned again. Walgreens is an exotic destination,
Target an impossible dream. Cupboards are opened, then closed, then
opened again in search of enlightenment, or peanut butter M&Ms. The
dog idly surfs the internet, Googling sunny vacation get-aways and
pawing through her email. I briefly consider learning Spanish to
justify the recent rash of Espanol-themed blog posts, but then discard
the idea. Hours are spent avoiding the fitted sheet, which, with its
wavy scalloped edges and lack of defined corners, is an unfoldable,
insoluble laundry paradox as elegant in its own way as that whole Cosmos-y
business about the fabric of space-time; luckily, the situation is
saved in the nick of (space-)time when it is determined that the clean
fitted sheet can just go right on the bed. Hey. . . no need to fold
that confounding sucker after all! Crisis averted. Household clutter magically renews itself, papers
and dishes and stray socks multiplying like. . . yeast. We rejoice in
small victories, moments of grace, like the crispness of the 4-inch
hole cut through the back panel of our new TV cabinet, the culmination
of our attempt to convert salvaged alley junk into a treasured piece of
furniture using only willpower, ingenuity, and spray paint.
Luckily, tomorrow is a new day.