I NEED TO STOP PLAYING WITH HOT WAX…

I Need to Stop Playing with Hot Wax, will be a chapter in my Hurricane Ike notebook. The much anticipated Monday promise of power passed without even a flicker while I sat and played with the wax in my candles because my eyes had gotten too tired to read by candlelight. I made a ball of wax and I understand a little bit more about the phrase, “the whole ball of wax.”

I have stayed close to home because I could be called into work at any given time, though at this present moment, my office is also still without power. I have read quite a few books and I have lost weight either because I have time to ride my exercise bike, or my gag reflex kicks in whenever I try to push another slice of bread laden with peanut butter down my throat.

Today I wanted a hot breakfast that didn’t involve soup or oatmeal made with water (yuck), so I ventured out to the Golden Arches for a bagel type breakfast sandwich and some coffee. While there, I saw three power company trucks and waved at them and wished them well despite the urge to run over and ask where they were headed at this particular time. 600,000 people in Houston are without power, so it’s not like I’m alone. I know of one former co-worker who lost everything on Galveston Island and seeing her sweet face in my head, knowing how many people she’s hosted in that house and how many times she said she cherished every sunset on her deck with her husband keeps most of my whining at bay.

I chatted with another former co-worker in line at the Golden Arches who lives in my neighborhood and still has no power. Her hair looked a lot better than mine, though. I almost thought she had power because she didn’t have the “Hair of No Voltage” – flat, pinned back, wet ponytail, or wild free-for-all I’ve been seeing (including in my own mirror). I need to find out what kind of shampoo she uses.

After my hot breakfast, I went to Michael’s to get more candles (they have lovely unscented ones) and a lighter (I should never use matches without adult supervision). While I was there, I noticed they had a sale on picture frames and saw an older, diminutive Hispanic woman carrying a rather large, rather beautiful frame to the cash register. This frame was so big, it was almost as tall as she was.

I commented how beautiful the frame was, and she beamed at me, telling me in very deliberate, broken English that she would put a picture of her family in it and it would hang in her living room and that she loved to be reminded of those she loved. The young woman at the register gave her the price, somewhere between $27-$28. This lady emptied her purse and counted out about $25 and change. The cashier braced herself because we both thought this sweet little lady was going to cry.

While the lady behind me was commenting that I had the Hair of No Voltage and she didn’t have power either, I made eye contact with the young lady behind the counter and handed her a dollar. The little lady nearly jumped up and down, she was so thrilled. She told me thank you about a hundred times and handed me the pennies she had left despite my efforts to get her to keep it. She thanked me again as I was leaving.

She carried that wrapped frame to the car and very gingerly put it in the back seat. I got in the car and was grateful I had no power so I could be at Michael’s so this little lady who loved her family could have this beautiful picture frame.

I need to stop playing with hot wax.