an arctic tale

So here it is, not really winter at all and yet we are all freezing in the house cuz the heater acted a little too vibrate-y when I turned it on at the beginning of November. And so we are freezing cuz we haven't turned it on again, and mostly because I refuse to pay an extra fifty bucks for a special visit from the heater guy when he is scheduled to come on the 17th for our semi annual maintenance. We can handle the chill for a few days, right? I mean, Dick Proenneke lived for 30 years by himself in the Alaskan wilderness, made his own log cabin and masonry fireplace and more from scratch without the use of power tools, didn't rely on high tech gear or fancy expensive equipment, and he happily lived with an inside winter cabin temp of 40 degrees when it was like, in the minus teens outside. And we have daytime temps still that are close to seventy degrees. So surely, we ought to be able to "rough it."

The time since I first heard our furnace grumble with dissatisfaction have been an interesting test of our resolve, warmth wise. Early on, I broke out the wool socks, and scavenged from my closet of thrift store cashmere and wool finds for an everyday something to wear. In the morning, anyone brave enough to be in our chilly house would have heard Baxter's friend george and big boyfriend's office heater humming away in our respective daytime work areas.

By mid-afternoon, we would open the windows and hope that the warmth from outside would breeze gently into our house. This mostly worked in the first few days of November, but it seemed as the days grew shorter, so did our our daily dose of near seventy degree weather, and soon we couldn't rely on solar powered relief from the chill. Taking a cue from medieval times, I put up heavy curtains across the doorways to my sewing room and office, to help contain the heat from our little heater friends and create habitable micro oases. Out came the down comforter for our bed, normally reserved for January and February, and out came the electric throw, which we turned on nightly to preheat tiny chumley's little spot on the otherwise stone cold leather sofa.

Tiny chumley also made his own accommodations for our domestic arctic conditions. Baxter quickly discovered the warming benefits of being a lap dog and for a couple of days at least, even willingly participated in my housecoat experiment, a purchased fleece dog coat whose design I thought might be ensausage proof, til the day big boyfriend found him at the top of the stairs, encased, and thoroughly resolved to rid himself of such troublesome attire. From then on, when Baxter wasn't enjoying a nice dig outside or training for his meals, he took to daytime hibernation under his own down covered, george powered igloo.

It was there that he decided to stage his rebellion yesterday. The little hungry doxie who usually gleefully drops whatever he is doing to work for his meal was nowhere to be found when I whistled for him to start our lunch time training.

A minute passed. Another whistle.

Nope, this boy was not leaving his makeshift igloo, and I could hardly blame him. I wandered over to his bed, leaned over and put my hands under the covers to feel his toasty warm body. Sigh, breakfast in bed it will be for you little boy. If only there was enough room in that thing for the three of us.



Thankfully, we are down to the last stretch in our arctic adventure. If all goes well, only two more days of "roughing it". And truth be told, I find it hard to really complain about our conditions. Sure, we could have had this problem addressed sooner, thrown money at it immediately, but there's an art to making do, of making lemonade out of lemons. Of coping in strange and unusual circumstances. Of celebrating life in true kalyxcornucopia fashion, one bark, stitch, and brrrr at a time. :)