DEEP FREEZE - Segment 5 (Scroll down for earlier segments)     


     During the night, the power went out.   The next morning we found Butch and Ginger wrapped up in blankets in the living room.  Butch was reading a semi-blackened newspaper.  “Yeah, I tried to start a fire,” he said.  “But I didn’t have much success.”

     “I’m glad I found you before spring,” I answered.

    “I’m just glad I can see my breath in here,” Butch continued.  “It’s the only way I know I’m alive.”

    “How did you enjoy the waterbed?” Connie asked.

    “Great,” said Butch, “Until the power went out.  Then it was like sleeping on a floating ice pack.  During the night, I dreamed a polar bear was standing at the foot of the bed, waiting for me to stick my head out of the covers, thinking I was a seal.  That’s probably why I couldn’t find the mint you laid on my pillow.  I think I offered it to the bear.”

 

     It wasn’t long before I had a roaring fire in the woodstove.   We all took our positions and continued reminiscing about warmer times past. 

       

     Since we lived in an area near great crabbing, Butch was insistent about getting a crab or two during their visit.  I picked a night when the weather was perfect---a foot of snow on the ground and temperatures hovering near ten degrees.  I got out everything we would need, handed Butch his hip waders, and we drove down to the water.  After wading out a distance, Butch said, “My legs and feet are starting to get cold and wet.”

     “Must be that leak I meant to fix,” I said.  “Just think ‘warm.’” 

    “I’m trying to think ‘warm’”, said Butch, “but my legs and feet keep arguing with me.  They’re saying, ‘We don’t care what you’re thinking. We’re going numb.’”  Not willing to give in to the numbing cold, Butch wandered off in another direction in search of the elusive crab.  

     Soon I heard some commotion and turned around to see Butch skipping across the icy water toward shore, waving a crab in the air for me to see.  Excited that Butch had gotten a crab, I began working my way toward shore.  When I arrived, Butch was still prancing around showing off his crab. “Nice crab,” I said.  “Now, if you’ll just stop prancing for a moment, we’ll get that crab off your finger.”  

    After removing the crab and satisfying Butch with multiple re-counts of all his fingers, we drove back to the house.  Along the way I said, “Next time, remind me to tell you about the ‘Fine Art of Crab Handling.’”  Butch didn’t hear a word.  He was too busy blowing on his swollen finger.   

     After several days...

To be continued...check back soon.