Envy

I don't know which number this Deadly Sin wears, but I confess I felt Envy in my heart while my power was out, Brothers and Sisters. Standing on my cold and darkened porch I could see over to the next ridge where my neighbor's lights bragged of hot water, a cozily churning heat pump, and Direct TV. They even had Christmas lights. Christmas lights! Nothing irks you more when your house is cold and dark than seeing the neighbor's Christmas lights twinkling like merry little gift-bearing elves across the icy wasteland. The Bastards!

As I stood there in envious regard of my neighbor's warm and frivolous lights, I noticed an unremitting low-grade rumble, foreign to the general silence of my mountain. It went on and on, like a diesel tractor that wasn't moving. It was somebody's generator, shredding the peace. I wanted to march down the gravel road in my Wellingtons to lecture them:

"Do you know you are disturbing the whole mountain just so you can have power? And I don't suppose you brought enough light and heat for everyone, did you? Well, then, you need to spit it out . . . er, um, that is . . . turn it off, until you bring enough for everybody! And let this be a lesson to you. No noisy generators. It's thoughtless and rude!"

It really was maddening to have to listen to people being toasty and all up to their ears in hot tea. I could have made hot tea, but what's the use when you have to sit in the dark until you can't bear it another second, and you look up to see all the sweet little neighborly Christmas lights beaming at you across the void? Watching wood burn is a an ancient activity with a time-honored pedigree, but your modern lad or lass has more or less completely done this inside of 45 minutes. After that point, you don't care what the strange little face in the embers is telling you, it's time to get the axe and go take out that effing generator . . . for the common good.