An old column that seemed appropriate this week.
It’s called “Cabin Fever.”
I grabbed my camera to capture some of the neighborhood kids as they sped down the icy slick surface that had once been our street. My neighbor next door was on her front porch, and she yelled that it sure looked like fun, and didn’t I wish I had a sled? I yelled back that I was too old (which I don’t really believe, but I said it anyway). In fact, she had given me the idea that I should join them, thinking there must be an old sled hidden beneath the cobwebs in our basement; one left behind from when our kids were young (and before I was too old).
I told KM my great idea and she said, “You’re too old.” Sadly, when she said it, it sounded sincere. So I sulked back to the couch, and books, and fireplace, and chili. Not so bad, growing old.
KM and I were stranded from Friday around noon until about the same time on Sunday. That’s when she informed me that she had to get out.
“Of the marriage?” I asked.
“No dummy, the house.”
“Oh,” I said, relieved.
I asked if she had cabin fever.
“Yes, I think I do. What does it mean?”
I looked it up on Wikipedia and read it to her – “Cabin fever is an idiomatic term for a claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group is isolated and/or shut in, in a small space, with nothing to do, for an extended period. Symptoms include restlessness, irritability, forgetfulness, laughter, and excessive sleeping, distrust of anyone they are with, and an urge to go outside even in the rain, snow, or dark.”
“THAT’S IT!!!” she screamed.
“Which part?”
“All of it,” she said, and walked out the door.
I wondered if I would ever see her again, and I began to fear inanimate objects, like our ironing board, washer, and dryer.
Our terrier Gus stared up at me quizzically, making me hope dogs couldn’t get cabin fever. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, and began to distrust him.
Since Kathy was gone, I decided to crank up the volume on my stereo in an attempt to blast any remnants of cabin fever from the premises.
Soon, I was rocking to Credence and the Stones. Gus joined in too, loudly barking to “Green River,” as he ran around the den in circles; confirming my earlier fears that he had indeed gone mad.
We finished that segment of the party and I checked the TV Guide. (Actually, I scrolled the menu of my Samsung. Do they even make the TV Guide anymore?)
I looked outside and most of the ice that had been such a source of joy from the day before had melted, causing the neighborhood kids to likely return to their world of digital entertainment. It made me a little sad and I dejectedly sat down.
My hand slid down under the cushion and I felt something hard and rough. I pulled it out and saw the shape of a dog bone – one of Gus’ treats. He was looking up at me with concern. I sent my hand back into the cushion and touched another treat. Gus whined. Then I pulled out a piece of an old steak bone and finally part of his rawhide chew toy.
It was obvious. Gus did have cabin fever and was hoarding food in case we never got out. We stared at each other with more distrust. There was but one thing to do.
I turned the music up.