3:00AM I’m supposedly laying by in the darkness. The TV’s going to drown out my tinnitus only I believe I may be hearing it the other way around. Besides the TV’s sound the stove pipe heat recovery blower decides to kick off and on a couple times before remaining silent. Living in this house over the years Frieda and I have become accustomed to hearing the constant winter murmurings this iron monster in our living room. We’ve to these coming and going sounds from it as though, of the darkest, the coldest nights it behaves like an animal, saying, “feed’s me the fire in my belly.” This ebony critter standing handily steadfast in it purpose or desire to keep the body’s of our souls warm. But be warned, getting to close this black hearted devil can burn a person’s hide. Treated carefully it serves us well winter‘s seasons year after year.
I can remember my great grand parents seasonally carrying their old pot bellied dinning-room stove out onto the back porch every spring, paint it sometime over the summer and bring it back in about the time of the country’s first frost. Them with the first fire in it the French doors to the sun porch, the back door as well as the rare opening of the front door all opened to let the awful stink blow out of the house. Just thinking about it I smell that different smoking fall odor of stove paint. I remember also Grandpa and dad with ropes passed under the stove then wrapped just so almost around their wrists held fast between their thumbs and fore fingers with all their fingers gripping those rope. There was the bending of backs, short baby steps of both men and grandma offering “Careful” encouragement’s over the back door sill and threshold’. I also remember her observations, “It’s tipping.” and “You’ve got to straighten it up!” and then the setting it just right over the imitated wood grained tin stove mate, “This way” or “No, that way” and “Just right.” A couple heat deflecting nickel plated rings were lowered down over the stove’s body. The stove pipe put back up always fitting just right, the wood-box brought in to sit off side behind the stove. Room was always reserved for dog’s mat and dog.
On hearing the demanding stove’s wants, the dialogue of an old movie’s characters, both nearly drowned out by the upped amplification, this time, the constant combined whistling and buzzing in my ears. Trying to drift back off to perhaps remember, sleep and dream an old adventure it was not to be. Rather than toss and turn seeking that solace what will take me from my ears boring musical refrains, I got up, brung me an orange to my keyboard, peeled and ate it, while setting down a vivid old old-memory.
Note: Now how about this? I’ve just returned from my afternoon outings having remembered what it was I wanted to write in my fourth paragraph. That’s not counting this very one.
It was as explained by our family physician, people either didn’t catch colds or got over them very quickly. It is there was a time people needed to go outside daily to re-supply their homes with firewood. That daily trek was the fresh air exercise peoples lungs needed to stay healthy. Then came along coal followed by oil both delivered to peoples homes, their basements holding a tank or bin. Fuels delivered to peoples homes they had no more need to go outside, consequently no good fresh air taken in while they re-breath the households bad air.
I’m up. and haven’t decide whether I feel better or not. Having to get on the road, regardless how I feel I made up my own oatmeal. Making the instant variety adding raisins. When I brought it out of the nuker, it looked oddly back at me. I guess I hadn’t put enough water in it. Stirring it up it got to looking better but still wondering (??????) I added some maple syrup to it. Didn’t taste to bad in-spite the fact it come out of my cereal bowl resembling lumpy wall paper paste, but it was good. Then I was off to re-supply the shelled corn.
First stop was Sixguys farm. Corn loaded it was on around the block for a weight slip. The elevators scales frozen yesterday they weren’t working today. Whoopee, I’m relegated to estimating the load’s weight. If I should go back to my collected weight slips 3rd, 4th, 5th one’s back and average them I should come up close.
Getting the loaded wagon back home ugly just managed to complete its ramble up and out of the low drive to lose traction. Ugly should have had it made on high ground. Feeding time for the ladies after taking them their hay I hook onto wagon to complete its parking. Egh, The 4020 Jd can’t even get traction.
I’ve written I purchased a half priced fir tree Christmas gift for Frieda after the Holiday. Well all of a sudden it is beginning to become expensive. She’s talking about repotting it in a bigger pot giving the roots more room to grow. Some two hundred acres spread out up and down this road, the earth frozen, I can’t dig up a shovel full of dirt. So, here it comes, While I was at the elevator today I got us a forty pound bag potting soil. Now get this, it’s frozen, but its sitting not far from the heating stove. Well that frozen bag wasn’t near as hard as to trying fit a 20 or 40 acre field in here. Such is the continued way of loving gestures, there costs just continue to rise, going on forever. Oh whoa is me…
And now for a few words on my cold suffering. My phlegm was yeller colored the last couple days, clearing some today. I think I’ve managed to hurtle the high point in any infection my carcass has been hosting. I sure hope I’m square with the world in a couple more days. Good news is, Her Mostess is over her cold. So it’s my hiny that’s dragging around here. Soon’s we’re both well its off to see the wizard of Doctor, the man of letters for Frieda’s good health report and my head noises. BGKC.
It was a great day. now if I can continue keeping my mouth shut