one dark and stormy night， the lights blinked out in ourrented Maine cabin. Lacking candles or a flashlight， mymother knew just what to do: she poured the hamburgergrease from a frying pan into a teacup， then tore a few danglingstrands of cotton from the open knee of my bell-bottom jeans. Sheset the wick in the fat and struck a match. A teenager at the time， I'dnever been quite so impressed with parental competence. Years later，