a pause...

Tumultuous pressures spin and twist, rise and drop, driven by rotations and pulls toward centers magnetically polarized, and the 6pm weatherperson and part time game show host has renewed purpose. Loosely anchored, majestic firs whose roots reach shallow, their thirst quenched quickly without need to seek further become top-heavy and topple when pushed. Prime targets of the random felling? The mediums for telemarketers, advertisers, and talking heads. Do the trees know something we don't? So went the power, phone, and cable TV lines and all of a sudden we were stunned into states of bizarre reverse sensory deprivation. A tear in the fabric of our particular 24/7 bombardment and the white noise ceased; a hiccup in the continuum and suddenly we could hear things... like each other. And the point of the 6pm weatherperson and part time game show host's validity became moot.

So a scheduled neighborhood Christmas party occurred regardless and the ones that showed up did so out of curiosity. A party without electricity, without heat, without phones, without a ballgame on the TV in the background, without internet, and what would there possibly be to do? Three hours later, when the electricity surged back into life, with our bellies full of food warmed on woodstoves and wine chilled on the deck, and conversations of life in full swing, it was decided by the consensus of a collective moan to keep the stove stoked, the candles burning, and the light switches pointing downward. The only hint of reconnected convenience... a microwave clock flashing in desperate need of a reset.

We wait with baited breath for the next such hiccup in the continuum. Less debris and damage to home and hearth would be most appreciated though.

...pass us the bottle, Santa.