Burning the Midnight Oil - by Rick

As was their custom at midnight on the 31st of May, the Smith family gathered around the heater for the sacred switching on the oil burner. Bartholomew Smith, the family patriarch, reflected on this tradition, how the family endured the chills of late May so as to conserve their stock of fuel oil until winter officially began. “A penny saved is a penny earned.” could easily have been the family motto if they had one.

As the grandfather clock struck the last of its 12 gongs, Bartholomew flicked the switch, but instead of the familiar swish as the pilot light caught, they heard a soft hiss and then instead of the warm blast of air from the heater - nothing. “What the….”, he muttered under his breath. He noticed his son Lancelot fidgeting. “Don’t worry Lance, it’s probably just a blockage from the tank. Come on. Let’s go and check it out.”

“That won’t be necessary father. I know why the heater didn’t switch on and I’m afraid I have something to confess. We have no heat because we have no oil. It’s as simple as that. I sold the oil last month so that I could buy a new iphone.”

“You did what?”, Bartholomew spluttered. “How could you do something so foolish? You surely knew we would need that oil for the winter months.”

“Well it didn’t seem such a concern back during that hot spell we had in early May,” Lance replied defensively. “And besides, Prime Minister Rudd was practically ordering us to go out and consume so as to help our troubled economy. I only wanted to do my part.”

Papa Smith counted to 10 silently while his blood pressure settled. “Putting aside your noble gesture and the fact that the oil didn’t belong to you, I fail to see how our freezing has anything to do with the economy.”

He sighed and continued. “Well what’s done is done. We’ll discuss how you are going to make this up later. We’ll just have to open our Christmas savings jar early this year and buy some more oil in the morning.”

With that daughter Christine gave a nervous cough. “Father, family. I’m afraid I have something to confess too. The Christmas jar is as empty as our oil tank. Last week I borrowed the money to buy a new dress and shoes that I need for the school dance. I planned to repay it all way before Christmas was here. Sorry. And I wanted to help Prime Minister Rudd too by the way.”

Papa counted to 20 this time. “Mama where did we go wrong? Never mind. Fortunately there’s still our rainy-day bank account. This is close enough to an emergency to merit using it for the purpose of keeping us warm. And be sure you know that there will be a stern conversation tomorrow about what you children have done.”

“Bartholomew, children,” said Prudence Smith, “It seems that this is family confession day. I too wanted to do my part to help the economy. And besides, I’m tired of fiddling with that broken down washing machine that doesn’t empty the water anymore. Yesterday I went to Bing Lee’s and bough a new one using our rainy-day money. Well isn’t a broken down washing machine just the emergency that we were saving for?”

“Bartholomew,” Prudence continued, “perhaps just this once we should break the family rule and take out a loan. After all, we barely need $1,000 and I’m sure we would have a good credit rating with our banker, Mr. Pincher.”

Papa only counted to 3 this time, and the red face wasn’t caused by anger. “Family we can’t take out another loan. This morning I paid a visit to Mr. Pincher and borrowed almost $20,000 to buy a new Holden. It came with an $8,000 rebate so it’s really almost a $28,000 car. And besides, it will help the economy.”

As the Smith family heads off to their very chilly beds, Bartholomew is ruminating over another possible family motto: “A fool and his money are soon parted.”