By Barbara Kessler
Green Right Now
I woke up at 5 a.m. on Sunday. I wasn’t sure why. The house was quiet and there was a soundless rain outside. I was planning on snuggling back into bed for at least two more hours after checking on the old dog — assuming it was she-who -needs-to-go-out-at-exceedingly-early-times who woke me.
I decided to check on the teenagers too. And there in the in the “playroom” or Texas basement or whatever you call that room over the garage, was a nightmare of electricity consumption. The room was ablaze in light. The TV was blaring. The DVR was glowing. The 14-year-old asleep on the couch as only someone his age could be. He was sent to his room — where a light also had been conveniently left on.
