I’m frozen. Somehow it’s sunny and warm outside but like an ice chest inside my normally lovely little farmhouse. My arms and legs are stiff and my fingers tingle each time I hit the keyboard. Even though I’m writing today in layers of fleece pajamas and an oversized robe, I’m still cold to the bone. I’m a human ice-pop.
We heat our place primarily through the wood stove and our last cord of wood was heavy and wet. It’s hard to tell when you’re loading it – heavy is good – dense wood burns long. And wet wood doesn’t always look wet. It looks just like dry wood. So how were we to know that we’d spend the next few weeks spreading the wood out around the wood stove in hopes of a dry hunk of wood to burn. My heart sinks a little every time I load another piece in and hear the sizzle.
Before you start feeling to sorry for me and start knitting mittens and slippers to send my way, I have to admit – we do have electric baseboard heating. We even use it when all else fails. But somehow I’ve gotten so cheap that I’d rather freeze my behind off than turn the baseboard on. I don’t know how it happened. I used to laugh at people who lived like that – stubbornly tossing on an extra sweater, or walking around with blue lips all for the sake of saving a buck. But it’s more than that – it’s the fact that with a wood stove plunked in the heart of a little farmhouse, you shouldn’t need the electric heat on. And yes, we have the energy efficient ones. It still is like burning money. Literally. And I can say that, because yes – you can picture me holding money over a flame and watching it burn. It makes me crazy, and I hold out as long as I can. I like to boast that we got through all of last winter and only turned them on once. We did have dry wood though.
Sometimes I have to wonder if it’s just me. After all, both my husband and daughter walk around in short sleeves all the time. They have boiling blood it seems, and always run hot. In the coldest of weather, you’d be hard pressed to find my daughter wearing socks or anything for that matter on her feet. And my son comes home from school and immediately strips down to his underwear. It’s a phenomena I don’t really understand, but from watching ABCs “The Middle” (which along with Modern Family is my favourite family show to watch) I’ve come to realize it happens to be a thing some boys do, even in the dead of winter. So I walk around this house bundled in fleece and flannel and microfiber, and still – I freeze.
As I was writing this, feeling very sorry for myself I might add, I decided to walk over and check out the thermostat to see what kind of cold I was really dealing with today. Maybe I was just a total whiner and seeing a number would snap me out of my shivering self-pity. 16 degree Celsius, which for those of you who need a conversion is 60.8 degree Fahrenheit. Are you kidding me? That’s what my parents turn their heat down to when they go away for the winter so the pipes don’t freeze! And I’m sitting in this?
Screw it. The baseboards are a blaring.