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| Snowy scene out the front door |
Everybody
in Texas—and elsewhere—has their storm story today. Here’s mine: the
temperature in the cottage was 48 when I got up about 7:30 with Sophie. She
didn’t stay long, and I went back to huddle under the covers. The cavalry
arrived in the form of Jordan bearing a second space heater and a heating pad.
With two space heaters plus my two ceiling-hung heating and cooling units, the
temperature got up to the recommended 68 by noon, and I was fairly comfortable
working all morning. Of course, I won’t leave space heaters on all night, so it
will plunge again tonight. With extra covers, I was mostly comfortable all
night.
I have
no hot water. I understand its common for tankless water heaters to freeze, and
I’ll call the plumber tomorrow to see if I should do anything but wait and keep
the faucets off. I did my lunch dishes in cold water and considered scalding
them, as my mom did at our cabin in the Indiana Dunes in summers. But I hadn’t
had anything greasy and worked extra hard to make sure they were clean. May
scald dinner dishes.
And
there goes dinner—for almost a year, the Burtons have come out here most nights
for dinner, and either Jordan or I have cooked in the cottage. It may be boredom
with routine, or the extraordinary cold, or chili—but the custom is falling
apart. In truth, I think it’s a pot of chili that Christian made last week—a big
pot. All my life I have loved a good bowl of chili, with cheese and sour cream,
but when my digestion rebelled a month or so ago, chili was one of the things
that I just couldn’t eat. And the memory lingers. So when they’re eating
leftover chili, I am cooking some of the things I want. Had scrambled eggs one
night, salmon patties another (I do love the leftovers), and tonight will be
the creamed chipped beef that I talked about and never made a while back. And
if they’re heating chili inside for leftovers, it’s silly to carry it out here
in bowls. So I will dine alone. I usually did that before pandemic, but now it
seems a bit lonely to me. Jordan comes and goes frequently, and almost always
watches the evening news and has a glass of wine with me, but supper is the
only time I catch up with Christian and Jacob.
Our
meal planning went awry anyway because we couldn’t get some of the things we
wanted at Central Market this week—notably a pork butt for carnitas. So I guess
we have to review the entire menu plan for the week.
Those
who survived the great heat spell of 1980—29 days of record-setting high temps,
including 117 in Wichita Falls—will remember the T-shirts that said, “I
survived the summer of 1980.” Now we all need new T-shirts, but I can’t decide
if they should say, “I survived the Pandemic” or “I survived the winter of
2021.” Maybe one thing on the front and the other on the back.
Stay
warm and safe at home, folks. It isn’t over yet. New storm coming tomorrow, and
no thaw until Friday.
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