by Suzy Banks
Tone of “Hearth & Soul” to Change I have failed in this column. And my failure is grounded in the erroneous
beliefs to which I’ve clung for years: the power of humor and the appeal of
self-sufficiency. But this week I had an epiphany which convinced me the world
would be a much better place if we all embraced somberness and helplessness. A
mere phone call transformed me from a rather silly columnist who worshipped at
the altar of Doing-It-Yourself into a grim and earnest writer who has seen the
light, who now extols the virtues of total dependence.
A couple who rents a house from us called the other night because the heater
wasn’t blowing hot air. “Did you check to see if the pilot light is lit?” I
asked. “The pilot light? The pilot light?” asked the man, who sells computers.
“Is that in the hot water heater?”
The old me thought this was both funny and pitiful. The new me now sees this
as purity of character, a heart and mind unblemished by the banal concerns of
everyday life, a fresh innocence born of ignorance. I explained — in a
self-righteous tone, I’m afraid — that I was talking about the pilot light in
the furnace and he asked, “The furnace? The furnace? Where would that be?” and
I answered, with thinly veiled contempt, “The attic,” and he — who has lived
in the house more than a year with his wife who is a graduate student in
architecture asked, “The attic? The attic? How do you get in there?”
I told him about the trap door in the ceiling of the hallway he must’ve walked
down 5,498 times. His wife called back about an hour later saying they didn’t
have a stool big enough to reach the access hole. I suggested she borrow a
ladder from a neighbor. She called back about an hour later and left a message
on my answering machine. She and hubby were up in the attic and they were
fairly sure they had found the furnace but could not find the pilot light. The
old, cruel me didn’t return their call. She called back again to say they had
figured it out based on the directions printed on the side of the furnace and
not to worry anymore. She sounded depressed as hell that she had been forced
from her ignorance-induced bliss.
I felt terrible. I had not simply slithered out of a tree and offered the
forbidden apple of independence to Adam & Eve Renter; I had jammed the
fruit in their mouths. I had let loose the demons of hardware stores and
plumbing repairs and roof leaks on this previously joyful couple. How many
other innocents had I corrupted with my blasphemous advice on everything from
tiling a counter top to refinishing wood floors? Lord, have mercy on my soul.
Perhaps I can redeem myself by devoting future columns to dry and vapid
topics. Where, oh where, will I find guidance? I soon discovered I need look no
further than the Sunday “Homes” section of our daily paper, where the headlines
guarantee a mirthless, vapid, and harmless article: “Preparations Are in Order
Before Hanging Wallpaper” or “Switching to Efficient Bulbs Will Save Time,
Money” or “When Painting Bedroom Consider Colors You Like.” Look for similar
topics in “Hearth & Soul” from now on.
Maybe I won’t be able to undo all the harm I’ve done, but only a fool wouldn’t
try.
Are you sure you want my advice? Then e-mail your questions to me
at: Suzebe@aol.com or snail mail ’em to: The Austin Chronicle, PO
Box 49066, Austin, TX 78765.
This article appears in March 28 • 1997 and March 28 • 1997 (Cover).