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A Family Living In A Thomas Kinkade Painting Receives Their Electric Bill |
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June 4th, 2007 12:27pm |
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It was just a normal day, you know? Slightly hazy outside. The sky she was a beautiful pastel purpley-orange and, though it is mid-July, our trees were dusted, ever so lightly, with a soft white palette of snow. Light filled the sky, our homes, and our hearts.
It was around three o’clock in the afterrnoon and our family sat happily gathered around our dinner table as usual. (Not to eat, mind you, but to sit.) There was the pitter-patter of a mail carriage sounding outside. This was odd, as we had never heard any hustle (nor had we ever heard any bustle). I, in my fatherly wisdom, decided it was time to head outside. It seemed a wise thing to do, as we had been sitting at the dinner table for approximately four years.
The door whisked open as I stepped onto my slightly faded pastel green grass. To the back of me I could see the steeple of a beautiful country church that we do not attend. (This is not due to doctrinal differences but because we never leave our dinner table as you will see documented in the above paragraph.) I could see my neighbor’s cozy little cottage to the left of me. It was beautiful, inviting, and appeared to be on fire. As I looked closer, I learned that it was not on fire, but that this homestead was illuminated by the beautiful glow of life and love from his family. I then looked at my beautiful home and saw light pouring out. It was as if I was looking at an overexposed photograph or a painting on a Kleenex box.
I wiped the tears from my eye (the ones that dropped to my cheek after witnessing the beauty of my neighbors light filled home and my own). Stepping over our precious little daffodils, I reached to open our mailbox. To my surprise, it contained very few items of note - save one. I opened a bright pastel envelope containing a bill for wattage used for our residence’s electricity. The sharp knife of reality stuck her blade in my back and I cried out, “Honey, turn out every light in the house!” I forced our entire family to leave their stations at the dinner table and unplug all unused appliances and lamps.
It’s been the hardest on my youngest son, who simply can’t wrap his head around this reality. “Who needs electwicitee anyway, pop,” he laughs, “isn’t it our love that iwwuminates our house?” I, in my fatherly wisdom, retort, “No, my son. It is cash, cold, hard cash that pays the bills around here – so get to work.”
We’ve yet to tell our neighbors, who continue to live their ignorant electricity-filled bliss. We often think that, perhaps, we should break the news to them. Personally, I’m looking forward to the day he leaves his dinner table to find that bright pastel envelope of pain. I will look and I will laugh and I will continue to sit in darkness.;
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