There are times when having a good imagination is not a good thing.
My husband took the three older children on an errand last night and I was here with sleeping three-year-old. I was having a nice, quiet, relaxing evening which I sorely needed -- my kids spent the entire day yesterday trying to kill me. Well, not really, but it felt like it. Basking in the peace, I settled in to an evening of Internet surfing when all of a sudden the power went out.
Not a big deal. I lay down on the couch, thinking I'd take a little dose until the power came back, but then my imagination started to work overtime.
What if it wasn't really a blackout. What if a murderer had cut the line to the house and was, at that moment, preparing to come in and murder me?
Okay, as soon as I had the thought, I knew I was being silly. I could plainly see that the neighbors on either side had also lost power. (Unless the murderer planned to kill the whole trailer park, I was fine.) But that didn't keep me from dashing to the door and locking it.
Then I heard a strange beeping noise. I couldn't figure out what we owned that was battery-operated that could beep.
Enough of the darkness -- this was no little blip. I made my way into the kitchen and grabbed the emergency candles and -- amazingly -- found the matches too. With a flick, the room came to life and I wasn't afraid any more.
Back before flashlights, back before halogen bulbs and all the rest, there were candles. Blessed, blessed candles. They require no batteries. They're cheap (I get mine every year at the Wal-Mart after Christmas clearance, 8 inch tapers for a nickle.) They're pretty. They're comforting. They don't glare -- they glow.
I settled in and read by candlelight until my family came home. With the three-year-old double insulated in his bed, life was good.
You know, except for that whole murderer thing.