Sometime during my college years, my father, the hornplayer, got drafted for a local run of Haydn’s Creation, the first time I believe he had actually performed in that piece, and in his letter — those quaint things we exchanged in the days before the Internet — he commented of the opening performance: “God was late.” He meant the principal trombonist whose office was to form the backbone of the orchestral response to the Biblical injunction: “Let there be light,” but I had to wait until Christmas vacation to have it explained.
God was late. Well, Dominion Virginia Power really. It’s been a long goddam fifty hours without light, heat, phones, or Internet, but at least I have a gas stove and water heater, I was able to find enough batteries to keep a small emergency radio working, nothing so far has fallen on the house and I don’t live on the Jersey Shore.
Lacking a trombone, or the embouchure required to operate one, I stepped out on the porch with my gong when the lights came back on, and rang it.
God must have rewarded you for not constantly bombarding her with futile messages
:p
Ha! Good one, Richard!
And it was good!
Oh man, I never was so glad to see the lights come back after a cut.
Now, Arlington has figured out how to underground power to my STREET light. Which shone in my window the whole damn time. Why ever nothing has been undertaken to connect that source to our houses, I cannot imagine.
You escaped the wrath of God because no matter how you try to appear as the bad witch, you are a good one.
(Amen,
Manius)
Then what am I doing in this pointed hat?
I was wondering.
That is because your knowledge and your intelligence protrudes.
I thought it was my hair knot.