DEEP FREEZE - Opening segment (Scroll down for previous chapters)


     I braced myself against the bone-chilling cold.  It penetrated every part of my body.  I wiggled my toes and fingers to be sure they were still attached.  I should have dressed more warmly, but here I was kneeling in front of the old woodstove in my underwear, trying to start a fire.  I struck a match, then another match, but they refused to be lit.  I threatened the rest of them with a good hosing if they didn’t cooperate.  I didn’t want to be found in the spring, lying curled up by the old stove, still clutching a box of matches.  I finally got a cooperative match.  I shared its flame with the newspaper resting amongst the kindling.  Then I ran back and jumped in bed, waiting for the fire to start crackling before I added some more wood. 

     About fifteen minutes later, my wife got up to check the fire.  “You’d better come in here and threaten this newspaper,” she yelled, shivering in the cold.  “The paper didn’t stay lit.  It looks like it just received some minor smoke damage.  Do we have any hay?”  She loved to remind me of my proficiency at starting fires with hay.  I finally resorted to the blow torch and had a roaring fire within minutes, barely keeping it within the confines of the woodstove.   

     We had moved into the old 1930’s farmhouse in August.  By mid-November, we were being assaulted by heavy snow and falling temperatures.  Soon we would be in the midst of a record-setting deep freeze.  I was hoping to use the challenges of the old farmhouse for family bonding, but I now feared we might crack and shatter before we had a chance to bond.             

     With no insulation, the cold marched right in and made itself at home.  It didn’t even have the courtesy to knock first.  The cold became so comfortable, I was afraid it would never leave.  The kids complained of freezer burn.  Our family became an experiment in a giant meat locker.  

 

     With the old woodstove as our only source of heat, we had prepared for the worst.  It was far worse.  After several licks at the ice on his water bowl, our cat disappeared.  We feared his demise.  But a week after his disappearance, we received a post card with a paw print from Palm Springs.  Cats are so innovative and self-sufficient.  We saved the litter box, knowing he would return in the Spring.      

 

To combat the deep freeze, I sought the advice of a friend, Flynn Willie, who had experience in cold weather survival training. 

 

 

To be continued...check back soon

    

 

         

      

THIS OLD FARMHOUSE - Final segment (Scroll down for earlier segments)


     When I decided to remodel our bathroom, I made the mistake of telling Connie.  Of course, seeing the toilet in the living room caught her attention and caused some tension.  After she returned from a couple days and nights of binge shopping, I could see a due date flash across her mind.  Actually, she had gotten a tattoo on her forehead.  It was the due date. 

     “Very clever,” I told her.

     “Just a subtle hint,” she answered.

     Every day that she insisted I get the bathroom completed, I kept telling her I was right on schedule.  She had just failed to recognize one of the laws of nature; you have his and her due dates, and never the two shall meet.  I will admit, men must occasionally change the due date on their projects, but this is done only in extreme emergencies, such as taunting, threats, bodily harm or, worse yet, no dinner until it’s done.

     Connie mentioned she was tired of using the restroom at McDonald’s, and McDonald’s refused my request to put in a shower, so, for safety reasons, I changed my due date to match hers.

 

     I finished my project much sooner than expected, probably due to the fact I was starving.  It didn't turn out exactly like I had planned; the toilet flushed every time we turned on the shower, and the bath water started running every time we flushed the toilet, but, living in the old farmhouse, we learned to adapt.

 

     After enough time had passed to dull her memory of the bathroom, I approached Connie with my next project.  “Is there anything we need to talk about?” I asked.

    

     “Why?” she asked, beginning to tremble.

    

     “I was planning to remodel Mindy’s room, and I knew that once I started, we wouldn’t be talking for a while.”  She left immediately for the pharmacy, looking for an anti-remodeling vaccine while our son was calling the locksmith to get a deadbolt lock put on his door.

    

     I used to think remodeling would be fun and easy because I always watched programs on television like This Old House, where Bob Vila was always smiling, and the nails went in straight; and everything was done in thirty minutes.  Then I discovered remodeling off TV… the darker side of remodeling: grinding your teeth to the gums, talking to your hammer in a high-pitched voice, blowing cold air on hot swollen thumbs, and trying to explain to the hardware man why you’re returning a sack full of bent nails...”they weren’t strong enough to go in straight, and does he have others that are stronger, like spikes?”  On top of this, your project is taunting you, daring you to come back and finish what you started. 

 

     Forget the due date.  Let’s go test the fishing.  I’ll just call Bob Vila and have him stop by THIS old farmhouse, and finish my project with a smile; and it will be done before I cast my line. 

 

 

New chapter coming...check back soon