Once a week in the winter, our family does something called "Black-out night".
At dusk, we turn out all the lights, TV, computer, etc.; anything that is electrical gets snuffed out and we light candles. We have dinner by candle-light, talk, spend time together with no technological interference.
Sounds charming, doesn't it? And it is. Really. I enjoy it.
Mostly.
The only thing is... my husband has kind of turned into a fascist about Black-out night. Apparently, someone appointed him Keeper Of The Darkness and forgot to let the rest of us know.
Once Black-out night has started, there can be no light. NO LIGHT. "But honey, I can't see what I'm cooking". He comes over with a tealight candle, holds it over my pot. The 2-inch halo of illumination only shows me that whatever is in the pot is dark. Is it boiling yet? I put my ear down like an American Indian squaw to listen for sounds of bubbling. "Can I just turn on the light for a second to--" "NO! It's Black-out night! That means NO LIGHT!" Yeah, think we're pretty clear about that.
Dinner is fine, fun, full of good conversation. I start to get all warmed up about the charms of Black-out night again. I smile at my handsome husband, even handsomer by candlelight. Then it's time to get the kids ready for bed. We trudge up two flights of stairs, weird shadows flickering on the wall from the candle. One of the kids starts to whimper. "Don't worry", I say soothingly, "It's just weird shadows flickering on the wall from the candle." This explanation soothes no one, not even me.
We brush teeth by candlelight. My husband goes downstairs to get something. I quickly turn on the light to take out my contact lenses. I hear him bellow,"NO LIGHT! It's BLACK-OUT NIGHT!" How the heck did he know?! He's two floors below me and on the other side of the house!
There is no explanation for this phenomenon other than this: He felt the light go on.
Because he is Keeper Of The Darkness.
I take out my lenses by the light of my open cell phone. There is no doubt that I completely missed the lens case and my contacts will be teeny dried-up potato chips by tomorrow.
I read the kids a story by candlelight, which, again, is mostly charming, really sweet and pretty darn dangerous.
Once they are asleep, I go downstairs. My husband is watching TV. Cool.
I go to the refrigerator for a drink, open the door. Light floods out. "It's Black-out night" he murmurs, eyes glued to the television.
There is only one thing that can make the Keeper Of The Darkness fall from his high pedestal.
An episode of "24".
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