As a public service, knowing the streets of this idiot town would be clogged solid with old Chevies in tennis tires, many stayed home and coped with tremendous labors.

Nothing on the radio to speak of. All those commercials on the music station, plus that voice that curdles teeth. Television is upstairs, and hardly worth the trip up there to see if it's working.

Good grief, additional snow appears to be falling.

(RING A DING-DING), Ah. Judith. "Hellow, dear. Have you been out? I suppose not, but it's ghastly. We went to lunch. It took an hour and 45 minutes from the restaurant home."

Well. It is now time to give the birds hot water.

There is this new invention, a sort of combination of galoshes and boots. What will they think of next. Ideal for journeys in the snow.

"The hound has fallen down the outside basement steps and is stuck in the snow," cried a member of the household.

"Can't she wait till I give the birds hot water?"

"No. She's up to her -- you better go fetch her."

"Did you see the flicker in the tree?"

"Oh, very good. Is he eating suet?"

"No, he's trotting up a branch over the roof."

"I don't see why he isn't eating suet. It was God's own trouble to get it fixed on the tree. Are we out of sunflower seed?

"Flickers don't eat sunflowers."

"No, but the jays do. The mocking-birds ate all the raisins."

"Would you be good enough to get the door?"

And so it went. One thing after another. All very exhausting.

RINGinginging. "Ah, the Widow Barnes. Do you want a Sealtest pumpkin pie? She's putting out an order for the milkman and can get you one."

"Anything they'll deliver we'll get. Sooner or later we'll probably get Sooner or later we'll probably get hungry enough to eat anything they sell."

It is now time to read all about Kirlian photographs of electrical energy sent out from finger tips. Heady stuff. A good shrink gets you to the point you have dandy auras for your finger tips.

So much for science. Now the matter of ordering the water lilies. We have never planted August Koch who is violet blue. General Pershing is a lovely pink. It would be hard to do without General Pershing.

Of course Mrs. Woodrow Wilson is fine, but I think they have trouble with her north of Philadelphia. Perhaps we should go for General Pershing, after all.

It is exhausting to choose water lilies and get the order off to Saddle River.

"Have you got a stamp?"

"There should be one in the desk drawer."

"I know there should. But since there isn't --"

"Really, you are the most helpless man I ever heard of. I'll get one when I come down."

It is now time to water the birds again. One can of hot water melts the block of ice. Another can goes in like live steam and the birds love it.

"The hound is stuck between the bicycle and the fence."

If it's not one thing it's another.

One must eat chili. Tomorrow, tuna fish. Then hot dogs.

If it ever thaws, we may go to the store and purchase apples. They are good for scurvey; oranges, too.

"The hound is stuck between the barrel and the tool shed. Would you mind wiping the paws when you come in. They make puddles and I've done the floor twice."

It is time for supper. Chili. And we can use up the stale meringues for dessert.

"There is something on television about the White House seen through the eyes of a wonderful maid."

No doubt there is. But after a hard day, who wants to think.

"The hound wants to go out again. Tell her to stop getting stuck."

We also serve who stay home and keep the fires of the republic burning, and water the birds and unstick the hounds and tend to our auras and eat chili and eat chili and eat chili.