The long, cold week

Hi neighbors. I have declared this week the longest week of all. Although the actual hours are the same as any other week, time slows down and the world spins slower.

What makes this week different? This is the week (this last week is the referenced week) when the temperatures drop. This happens in direct opposition to the availability of the furnace pilot lighting man. Although this does occur every fall, I never remember this single week once the house heats up at last. I always vow to call him early the next fall; but that doesn’t seem to happen.

Before the furnace pilot lighting man arrives, I spend the week re-enacting ancient history; the time before the discovery of fire that is.

I don’t have any furs or animal hides; but I do have blankets, socks, shoes, long johns, slacks, undershirts, sweaters, jackets and even coats. Not for outdoor wear mind you, but to watch television in comfort. Yes, I bundle.

Bundling in a chair is not as effective for getting warm as cocooning in bed, but I don’t have a television in my bedroom.

This cold week is when I determine where my windows need caulking, or propped shut with a board. It seems one of the bottom windows always pops up on one side and one of the top windows tends to slide down a bit. I was told to put clothespins (once taken apart into two slices of wood) and push them down between the window and frame. This supposedly wedges the window more snugly so it no longer falls down. I’ve done this at least four times.

If I could find my hammer I could shove the clothespins into the window frame tighter. My son, who borrowed my hammer two years ago, tells me that I should be able to push the clothespins in by hand tightly enough to do the job. I reminded him that he ought to be able to bring my hammer home and while they are both here at the same time, hammer the clothespins in place to guarantee a tight seal.

Other than that, I keep the blinds open on the windows and doors when the sun is shining and depend on my little electric heater in the outhouse, a.k.a. bathroom. Usually this is the only time the little heater gets used each year — this cold spell, long, cold week.

I’ve switched to instant coffee this week. Not because I like it better, but because it involves using a teakettle to boil the water for it. There’s nothing like huddling over a hot electric burner, enjoying the steam heat and listening to the whistling teakettle! This gives the illusion of warmth at least.

As usual when cold, my mind turns to the old wood-burning stove my grandmother had in her farmhouse. That thing could pump out the heat! As a matter of fact, my mind keeps producing memories of all types of fires. The campfires we would cook hot dogs over. The feel of the car heater in the winter and how very long it takes it to warm the car — but never an entire week.

That reminded me to take a spare blanket out to the car for this winter.

The sudden memory of the time my childhood home caught on fire spurred me to leave my little bundle of blankets in my chair and look room by room to make certain the house wasn’t on fire. I realized how foolish this idea was when I returned to my cold chair. A house on fire would have to generate more heat than this, I reasoned.

It’s almost time for one of my favorite television shows so I’d better go heat the oven to cook a pizza. The oven will have to heat (with the door open) for the hour I watch the show, then I’ll put in the pizza. It can’t be right to be jealous of a frozen pizza can it? I mean, it just goes from frozen to cooked...cold to hot.

The furnace man will be here by the time this goes to press so I’ll be fine and toasty before you read this. I will repeat the line from an old poem once the house warms up. This line is from the dearly departed who is finally placed in a crematorium after freezing to death in Alaska. “Since I left Plum Tree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm!” I’ve never been to Tennessee nor Alaska; but I’ve been cold and now I’m warm!