Saturday, February 5, 2011
Guest Blogging Again!
Whoa, two posts in two days! That's a record for me! But this is an easy one: I'm guest blogging today at Lila Munro's Realmantic Moments, about the joys of writing. Come on by and check it out. We'd love to see you there.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Brrrr!
Wow—the sun is actually shining! I feel like breaking into spontaneous Johnny Cash: “I hear the train a’comin…It’s rollin’ ‘round the bend…and I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when…”
Well, really, I saw it four days ago, but it’s been a loo-oo-ooong dark, four days. In case y’all don’t know, I’m located somewhere in Texas. My part of the state is not normally prone to snow accumulations above ½ inch, or to temperatures in the single digits. We typically see a lot of wind, year round, but we don’t typically see wind chill warnings of -7 degrees. Our usual windy winter involves perennially dry skin and statically electrified hair, spotty ice, and relatively tiny amounts of sleet/blowing snow which don’t stick longer than overnight.
So, the past four days have been somewhat of an (overblown) ordeal. But honestly, six inches of snow on a two inch icepack, solid on the roads for three days? Daytime temperatures in the single digits, and a wind chill factor below zero? Who lives like that? Alaskans? Hello; wrong end of the continent here!
When I was very young, I used to dream of a remote Alaskan cabin. Of course, when I was very young, I also used to think nothing of playing barefoot in the snow. But my Alaskan daydreams showcased long, cozy winters, during which I remained snug by the fire with a mountain of books to hand. I never once visualized the work or expense required to transport the literary mountain to the cabin, or the labor required to provide enough firewood for the winter. Nor did I imagine daily chores, much less venturing out of the cozy cabin until spring. For anything.
Well, now I’m old, and not only do I know a fantasy when I see one, arthritis settles in my right knee when the temps settle below 20.
You have to know that I’m not living in luxury here. Whining, I am, but I have no comfy heated home. The in-town house (which I am desperately trying to leave in favor of the farm, and in which I appear to be trapped forever) is a rambling barn of a centenarian, with lovely tall ceilings where warmth likes to hide, and a thousand nooks and crannies admitting whistling arctic winds. It is equipped with one fireplace in the living room and a woefully inadequate furnace. We seldom use the former because a fireplace is the most inefficient form of household heating known to man, and we don’t use the latter because it nicely warms the twenty foot high central stairwell ceiling, and nothing else. If I run that furnace, for a paltry $1000 or more a month I serve as the local stray cat population’s wintertime salvation. Fuzzy feline furballs huddle in the roof peak beside said stairwell, absorbing the warmth as it escapes through a picturesque dormer window, while my indoor cat’s water bowl freezes in the kitchen.
Alternatively, we don't have gas heat because during one of numerous necessary repairs we learned that our gas lines were riddled with holes. The gas company cut us off for safety reasons, and we can’t cajole a plumber into giving a semi-jello-like infirm bid for serious repairs. I refuse to jump into that morass blindfolded, thus we are left with electric space heaters and ingenuity.
We heat two rooms only, on any consistent basis: a main bedroom and the one where my live-in grandson sleeps. We eat and hang out in the main bedroom. To reduce drafts, we tack blanketrs over the windows, and stuff them in the doorcracks. My breath steams and my hands ache while I cook and wash dishes in the kitchen, wearing coat and warm boots, but no gloves. I retreat to the bedroom for periodic breaks, and chop vegetables there instead of in the kitchen, afraid I’ll accidentally slice my numb fingers instead of a carrot. The dog joins us in the bedroom, sometimes along with the more-independent cats. Live-in grandson is a toddler; we stockpile toys and play hours of peek-a-boo, etc., keeping him amused in a small space. He wears three layers: onesie and socks, footie pj’s, pants and long sleeve shirt. In the past four days, with three electric heaters running full tilt, the main bedroom daytime temperature reached a high of 55 degrees. We wear three layers, too. We diligently keep heaters and cords out of Grandson’s reach. I do as little laundry as possible, but anything washed is hung to dry from curtain rods above the muffled windows. We don't own a dryer; the weather makes line-drying impossible. Baths are sporadic and cold; the water heater is electric, but the bathroom is frigid. I sponge-bathe Grandson in the heated bedroom.
Wednesday morning the blackouts begin. We huddle under covers until power is restored.
On the plus side, we’re not homeless. There’s no wind chill indoors. We have plenty of clothing and blankets to layer on ourselves. We don’t need groceries: you won’t see us in those pre-storm lines at the grocery store or stuck in an icy parking lot. We are blessed, still relatively young and strong, and much more able than some to hunker down and ride it out.
Despite my whining, it really wasn’t The Long Winter, of Laura Ingalls Wilder fame. Many, many people across the country and locally had and are having a much harder time than us. Still, today I’m very glad to see the sun.
Random Question for the Day: Unlike a dog, how can a turtle ever be naked?
Hmm. A turtle in a stewpot is very, very naked.
Well, really, I saw it four days ago, but it’s been a loo-oo-ooong dark, four days. In case y’all don’t know, I’m located somewhere in Texas. My part of the state is not normally prone to snow accumulations above ½ inch, or to temperatures in the single digits. We typically see a lot of wind, year round, but we don’t typically see wind chill warnings of -7 degrees. Our usual windy winter involves perennially dry skin and statically electrified hair, spotty ice, and relatively tiny amounts of sleet/blowing snow which don’t stick longer than overnight.
So, the past four days have been somewhat of an (overblown) ordeal. But honestly, six inches of snow on a two inch icepack, solid on the roads for three days? Daytime temperatures in the single digits, and a wind chill factor below zero? Who lives like that? Alaskans? Hello; wrong end of the continent here!
When I was very young, I used to dream of a remote Alaskan cabin. Of course, when I was very young, I also used to think nothing of playing barefoot in the snow. But my Alaskan daydreams showcased long, cozy winters, during which I remained snug by the fire with a mountain of books to hand. I never once visualized the work or expense required to transport the literary mountain to the cabin, or the labor required to provide enough firewood for the winter. Nor did I imagine daily chores, much less venturing out of the cozy cabin until spring. For anything.
Well, now I’m old, and not only do I know a fantasy when I see one, arthritis settles in my right knee when the temps settle below 20.
You have to know that I’m not living in luxury here. Whining, I am, but I have no comfy heated home. The in-town house (which I am desperately trying to leave in favor of the farm, and in which I appear to be trapped forever) is a rambling barn of a centenarian, with lovely tall ceilings where warmth likes to hide, and a thousand nooks and crannies admitting whistling arctic winds. It is equipped with one fireplace in the living room and a woefully inadequate furnace. We seldom use the former because a fireplace is the most inefficient form of household heating known to man, and we don’t use the latter because it nicely warms the twenty foot high central stairwell ceiling, and nothing else. If I run that furnace, for a paltry $1000 or more a month I serve as the local stray cat population’s wintertime salvation. Fuzzy feline furballs huddle in the roof peak beside said stairwell, absorbing the warmth as it escapes through a picturesque dormer window, while my indoor cat’s water bowl freezes in the kitchen.
Alternatively, we don't have gas heat because during one of numerous necessary repairs we learned that our gas lines were riddled with holes. The gas company cut us off for safety reasons, and we can’t cajole a plumber into giving a semi-jello-like infirm bid for serious repairs. I refuse to jump into that morass blindfolded, thus we are left with electric space heaters and ingenuity.
We heat two rooms only, on any consistent basis: a main bedroom and the one where my live-in grandson sleeps. We eat and hang out in the main bedroom. To reduce drafts, we tack blanketrs over the windows, and stuff them in the doorcracks. My breath steams and my hands ache while I cook and wash dishes in the kitchen, wearing coat and warm boots, but no gloves. I retreat to the bedroom for periodic breaks, and chop vegetables there instead of in the kitchen, afraid I’ll accidentally slice my numb fingers instead of a carrot. The dog joins us in the bedroom, sometimes along with the more-independent cats. Live-in grandson is a toddler; we stockpile toys and play hours of peek-a-boo, etc., keeping him amused in a small space. He wears three layers: onesie and socks, footie pj’s, pants and long sleeve shirt. In the past four days, with three electric heaters running full tilt, the main bedroom daytime temperature reached a high of 55 degrees. We wear three layers, too. We diligently keep heaters and cords out of Grandson’s reach. I do as little laundry as possible, but anything washed is hung to dry from curtain rods above the muffled windows. We don't own a dryer; the weather makes line-drying impossible. Baths are sporadic and cold; the water heater is electric, but the bathroom is frigid. I sponge-bathe Grandson in the heated bedroom.
Wednesday morning the blackouts begin. We huddle under covers until power is restored.
On the plus side, we’re not homeless. There’s no wind chill indoors. We have plenty of clothing and blankets to layer on ourselves. We don’t need groceries: you won’t see us in those pre-storm lines at the grocery store or stuck in an icy parking lot. We are blessed, still relatively young and strong, and much more able than some to hunker down and ride it out.
Despite my whining, it really wasn’t The Long Winter, of Laura Ingalls Wilder fame. Many, many people across the country and locally had and are having a much harder time than us. Still, today I’m very glad to see the sun.
Random Question for the Day: Unlike a dog, how can a turtle ever be naked?
Hmm. A turtle in a stewpot is very, very naked.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
If at first you don't suceed...(Part one)
Okay, let’s rewind and try this again. For the three folks who actually once followed this blog, it’s obvious that I haven’t posted anything here in over a year. There are many reasons for my neglect, and I’m not going into them, partly because they’ll probably come up at some point later, and I hate repeating myself. For now, suffice to say it’s a new year and a new blog, sort of. On that theme, I’m guest blogging today over at Lisabet Sarai’s Beyond Romance blog, about the New Year and new resolutions. Go check it out, because a) she’s got a cool blog, and b) that’s all you get from me today. I'll be back tomorrow (perhaps) to expand on the theme.
Random Question for the Day (I have missed this feature): When you hesitate before hitting snooze on your alarm clock, are you being lazy?
I have no idea. I no longer own an alarm clock. Back when I did, I seldom used it, and I never, ever hit snooze. Once I'm awake, I'm awake. I am, however, unquestionably the laziest creature in the universe.
Random Question for the Day (I have missed this feature): When you hesitate before hitting snooze on your alarm clock, are you being lazy?
I have no idea. I no longer own an alarm clock. Back when I did, I seldom used it, and I never, ever hit snooze. Once I'm awake, I'm awake. I am, however, unquestionably the laziest creature in the universe.
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