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OT - Story - In Praise of Central Heat
Yeah, I know what you're thinking. "That Kathy is a few sandwiches
short of a picnic on this one!" If you're feeling especially kind and sympathetic, you'll think "Oh that poor girl! The pain has finally gotten to her for good." In reality, it's neither. I have just returned from a little unplanned stair climbing expedition. Most of the time, Bob lets Sophie out for her morning constitutional, which he hates. I know this because he curses from the moment he wakes up until he and the little dog return to their respective beds. This morning, I awoke to Bob attempting to get Sophie out of her bed with no success. The little dog opened one eye, gave Bob a look that is more commonly associated with one given to drivers that cut you off, and went back to her snoring and doggie dreams of catching squirrels. "Fine, the heck with you. See if I care. Explode if you want." Bob mumbled darkly, as he tromped down the hallway to take his shower. Predictably, there was a small dog pressing her icy cold nose on my elbow a nanosecond after the bathroom door shut. The same dog who couldn't be bothered to move a minute before now had to go out *NOW,* or we would all suffer dire consequences. Not particularly happy to get out of my warm bed, I muttered a few syllables of basic English to the small dog and made my way downstairs. It takes me a while to get down the stairs, but Sophie's whining and snorting encouraged me to go as quickly as I could. As I opened the back door, she shoved right by my legs, seemingly frantic for relief. Once she hit the back porch, she stopped, sniffing the air as if it were a fine wine and regally surveying her small kingdom. (Also known as the back yard) I looked at the backyard thermometer: 27 degrees or a couple below zero for those living outside the US. I decide I like Celcius better to describe winter weather, and Fahrenheit better in the summer. Hearing it's 27 degrees in August, when I'm a lump of melted Kathy just doesn't seem fair, and I always feel like a pioneer when I go outdoors at -2 without a jacket. Anyway, it's cold. Maybe not cold enough to get frostbite standing on the back porch, and definitely beach weather to Tina, but I'm not happy standing there shivering while Sophie explores every nook and cranny in the snow covering her kingdom. Finally, she does what she came out to do and returns to the house. Teeth chattering, I use my arms to pull me up the stairs, using my right leg for most of the work, and my left one as a rudder. I nearly land on my butt as a small dog decides that weaving in and out of my legs is a good idea, because now she's in a hurry for breakfast. I tell her to wait a darned moment, as I see my breath in the back stairwell. My Opa would like my back stairwell. Although technically indoors, it has no heat or windows, and whatever temperature it outdoors, it's close to that temperature in the back stairwell. Oddly, the front stairwell has heat, which is silly because no one uses the front stairwell. Shivering and out of breath at the same time, I make it back into our house and plop into the nearest chair. Boy Howdy, am I cold! Standing on the back porch in a nightshirt is not at all comfortable, and I give the small dog evil looks as she nudges her breakfast dish to hurry me along. She can just wait until I've warmed up. So there. Not that it matters to Sophie - she just finds the nearest dog bed and plops herself down, asleep before my next breath. I sit in my chair, panting, and start to warm up. I can smell the "heat smell," so common to old houses; the smell of steam coming up through old pipes and escaping through the valves of century old cast iron radiators. It's a very distinctive scent, one that causes me to accuse various family members of "messing with the thermostat" every October, because of my oft-stated and written-in-stone rule, "the heat stays off until November 1, unless it snows." The various radiators clank and hiss in a manner that always startles those visitors who have the misfortune to live in new houses. You know, those houses where heat is silent, instant and goes unnoticed. In my house, you know that you're getting heat, that the house is working hard to get you warm, and that it's going to take a few minutes. Thank you, house. My grandparents' home doesn't have radiators, even though it was built in the 1950's. Each room has a wood stove, big ceramic affairs that make my cast iron behemoths of radiators look streamlined and unobtrusive. The stoves are lovingly fed by Opa, who chops, splits and seasons wood as he has done for nearly a century. My Tantes and Onkels have been begging my grandparents to install central heat, because they would rather not have their very elderly father hauling wood and lighting fires in stoves. Their begging has become as much of a tradition as my "no heat before November first" rant, and just as effective. Whenever the subject is brought up, Opa demands to know why one would ever want to heat a room that they weren't in at that moment. "I'm in the kitchen, and the kitchen is warm. If I want to watch television, I'll light a fire in the living room stove, and then that room will be warm. What do I care if the bedroom is warm? I'm not in the bedroom!" He has a point, except for two things: the bathroom is cold enough to freeze your butt to the seat (no reading the newspaper in there!), and getting hot water is a chore. If you want to take a bath (no shower available, thank you very much, you sissy!), you go down to the woodshed and fill the "bathroom wood basket." Then you light a little fire in the water heater, in theory. In real life, you burn your fingers lighting eleventy-seven matches, make no progress in getting the kindling going, and eventually Oma starts the little fire. I always feel like a wimp at times like that, knowing that I'd freeze and die on "Survivor," because I can't even manage a little fire with matches and perfectly seasoned kindling at the ready. Oma smiles as she lights the fire in about thirty seconds with one match. A half hour later, you can take your bath, because there's hot water - a whole bath's worth. If someone else wants a bath, the whole procedure starts again. (There's a good reason that my grandparents' generation only took a bath on Saturday night) About twenty years ago, the heat argument reached its height, with my Onkels installing central heat, electric and available at the touch of a button. They also installed point-of-service heaters in the kitchen and bathroom, cool little boxes which heat the water as you need it, instead of having a big old tank of hot water wasting energy in the basement. The little water heaters are still there, doing a yeoman job of providing water for dishwashing and a daily sponge bath (the wood stove bathtub heater is still there), but the central heat didn't last long. Several months after the central heat was installed, Oma and Opa's basement flooded. Supposedly, the heater was ruined (although I can't see how it would be, as it was on the second floor), and Opa pulled the whole thing out. "Having heat in all those rooms is unhealthy anyhow," he muttered darkly, with Oma silently nodding along in agreement. My Tantes and Onkels, realizing that this was a battle they would never win, wisely gave up. But I have heat in every room, and now I'm warm and comfortable. The radiators are finished doing their thing for the moment, and now only let out the occasional clank or hiss of steam. If I want to take a shower, I need not plan ahead, but can simply turn a dial, and the hot water genie sends as much as I need to the bathtub, no matches necessary. I am grateful and happy to have heat, "even in rooms where I don't need it." Still genetics are a funny thing, because a little of Opa's attitude has filtered down to me. I'm certainly not going to rip out the furnace, and I would have to look long and hard for a book of matches. (and I've just confessed my dismal fire-starting abilities) But I know that I've got a little of that Opa DNA going on in there because I keep the house at a very chilly fifty-something degrees, and turn on a little space heater in my den when I'm home alone. No sense heating the whole darned house if I'm only in one room. Kathy N-V |
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#2
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The stories of your oma and opa give me more than a touch of nostalgia. You
are describing my own grandparents and my life as a teen in '70's Australia complete with wood stoves, copper in the laundry, huge vegetable garden, chickens in the back yard, wood shed and a post war sense of economics, "If it still works, you don't replace it and if it's broken, you fix it." My oma and opa migrated their life and culture to Australia and I was fortunate enough to experience it first hand. Or not so fortunate if you knew the state of my back today - lifting sodden clothes from a boiling copper and chopping wood is hard work. -- Marisa (AU/NZ) www.galleryvittoria.com "She who dies with the biggest stash, wins." |
#3
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One of the expenditures Pete insisted on after we married we a wood stove.
He wanted Vermont soapstone, instead we got cast iron from Maine. Having done my time with wood heating, I was not crazy about spending the several thousand dollars for it. But, you know, there's just no other feeling as the heat from a wood stove. Especially if the reason the house is cooling is that the electric is out, and the heater isn't working. Tina "Kathy N-V" wrote in message . giganews.com... Yeah, I know what you're thinking. "That Kathy is a few sandwiches short of a picnic on this one!" If you're feeling especially kind and sympathetic, you'll think "Oh that poor girl! The pain has finally gotten to her for good." In reality, it's neither. I have just returned from a little unplanned stair climbing expedition. Most of the time, Bob lets Sophie out for her morning constitutional, which he hates. I know this because he curses from the moment he wakes up until he and the little dog return to their respective beds. This morning, I awoke to Bob attempting to get Sophie out of her bed with no success. The little dog opened one eye, gave Bob a look that is more commonly associated with one given to drivers that cut you off, and went back to her snoring and doggie dreams of catching squirrels. "Fine, the heck with you. See if I care. Explode if you want." Bob mumbled darkly, as he tromped down the hallway to take his shower. Predictably, there was a small dog pressing her icy cold nose on my elbow a nanosecond after the bathroom door shut. The same dog who couldn't be bothered to move a minute before now had to go out *NOW,* or we would all suffer dire consequences. Not particularly happy to get out of my warm bed, I muttered a few syllables of basic English to the small dog and made my way downstairs. It takes me a while to get down the stairs, but Sophie's whining and snorting encouraged me to go as quickly as I could. As I opened the back door, she shoved right by my legs, seemingly frantic for relief. Once she hit the back porch, she stopped, sniffing the air as if it were a fine wine and regally surveying her small kingdom. (Also known as the back yard) I looked at the backyard thermometer: 27 degrees or a couple below zero for those living outside the US. I decide I like Celcius better to describe winter weather, and Fahrenheit better in the summer. Hearing it's 27 degrees in August, when I'm a lump of melted Kathy just doesn't seem fair, and I always feel like a pioneer when I go outdoors at -2 without a jacket. Anyway, it's cold. Maybe not cold enough to get frostbite standing on the back porch, and definitely beach weather to Tina, but I'm not happy standing there shivering while Sophie explores every nook and cranny in the snow covering her kingdom. Finally, she does what she came out to do and returns to the house. Teeth chattering, I use my arms to pull me up the stairs, using my right leg for most of the work, and my left one as a rudder. I nearly land on my butt as a small dog decides that weaving in and out of my legs is a good idea, because now she's in a hurry for breakfast. I tell her to wait a darned moment, as I see my breath in the back stairwell. My Opa would like my back stairwell. Although technically indoors, it has no heat or windows, and whatever temperature it outdoors, it's close to that temperature in the back stairwell. Oddly, the front stairwell has heat, which is silly because no one uses the front stairwell. Shivering and out of breath at the same time, I make it back into our house and plop into the nearest chair. Boy Howdy, am I cold! Standing on the back porch in a nightshirt is not at all comfortable, and I give the small dog evil looks as she nudges her breakfast dish to hurry me along. She can just wait until I've warmed up. So there. Not that it matters to Sophie - she just finds the nearest dog bed and plops herself down, asleep before my next breath. I sit in my chair, panting, and start to warm up. I can smell the "heat smell," so common to old houses; the smell of steam coming up through old pipes and escaping through the valves of century old cast iron radiators. It's a very distinctive scent, one that causes me to accuse various family members of "messing with the thermostat" every October, because of my oft-stated and written-in-stone rule, "the heat stays off until November 1, unless it snows." The various radiators clank and hiss in a manner that always startles those visitors who have the misfortune to live in new houses. You know, those houses where heat is silent, instant and goes unnoticed. In my house, you know that you're getting heat, that the house is working hard to get you warm, and that it's going to take a few minutes. Thank you, house. My grandparents' home doesn't have radiators, even though it was built in the 1950's. Each room has a wood stove, big ceramic affairs that make my cast iron behemoths of radiators look streamlined and unobtrusive. The stoves are lovingly fed by Opa, who chops, splits and seasons wood as he has done for nearly a century. My Tantes and Onkels have been begging my grandparents to install central heat, because they would rather not have their very elderly father hauling wood and lighting fires in stoves. Their begging has become as much of a tradition as my "no heat before November first" rant, and just as effective. Whenever the subject is brought up, Opa demands to know why one would ever want to heat a room that they weren't in at that moment. "I'm in the kitchen, and the kitchen is warm. If I want to watch television, I'll light a fire in the living room stove, and then that room will be warm. What do I care if the bedroom is warm? I'm not in the bedroom!" He has a point, except for two things: the bathroom is cold enough to freeze your butt to the seat (no reading the newspaper in there!), and getting hot water is a chore. If you want to take a bath (no shower available, thank you very much, you sissy!), you go down to the woodshed and fill the "bathroom wood basket." Then you light a little fire in the water heater, in theory. In real life, you burn your fingers lighting eleventy-seven matches, make no progress in getting the kindling going, and eventually Oma starts the little fire. I always feel like a wimp at times like that, knowing that I'd freeze and die on "Survivor," because I can't even manage a little fire with matches and perfectly seasoned kindling at the ready. Oma smiles as she lights the fire in about thirty seconds with one match. A half hour later, you can take your bath, because there's hot water - a whole bath's worth. If someone else wants a bath, the whole procedure starts again. (There's a good reason that my grandparents' generation only took a bath on Saturday night) About twenty years ago, the heat argument reached its height, with my Onkels installing central heat, electric and available at the touch of a button. They also installed point-of-service heaters in the kitchen and bathroom, cool little boxes which heat the water as you need it, instead of having a big old tank of hot water wasting energy in the basement. The little water heaters are still there, doing a yeoman job of providing water for dishwashing and a daily sponge bath (the wood stove bathtub heater is still there), but the central heat didn't last long. Several months after the central heat was installed, Oma and Opa's basement flooded. Supposedly, the heater was ruined (although I can't see how it would be, as it was on the second floor), and Opa pulled the whole thing out. "Having heat in all those rooms is unhealthy anyhow," he muttered darkly, with Oma silently nodding along in agreement. My Tantes and Onkels, realizing that this was a battle they would never win, wisely gave up. But I have heat in every room, and now I'm warm and comfortable. The radiators are finished doing their thing for the moment, and now only let out the occasional clank or hiss of steam. If I want to take a shower, I need not plan ahead, but can simply turn a dial, and the hot water genie sends as much as I need to the bathtub, no matches necessary. I am grateful and happy to have heat, "even in rooms where I don't need it." Still genetics are a funny thing, because a little of Opa's attitude has filtered down to me. I'm certainly not going to rip out the furnace, and I would have to look long and hard for a book of matches. (and I've just confessed my dismal fire-starting abilities) But I know that I've got a little of that Opa DNA going on in there because I keep the house at a very chilly fifty-something degrees, and turn on a little space heater in my den when I'm home alone. No sense heating the whole darned house if I'm only in one room. Kathy N-V |
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Christina Peterson wrote:
thousand dollars for it. But, you know, there's just no other feeling as the heat from a wood stove. Especially if the reason the house is cooling I think one of things I miss most about moving away from Lake Tahoe was the whole indescribable feeling when we had the wood stove going and looking out the big windows at nothing but deep snow and pines. }sigh{ Sometimes the wood stove never got cold for weeks it seemed. Ok... so I miss my ex more... but this time of year was the best. Here its rainy, muddy and 50 degrees... not pretty. PS ===== Having to use the AC in Jan. should be against the law... |
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vj wrote:
well, last weekend they got NINE FEET IN THREE DAYS. this weekend, they're getting SIX FEET MORE!!!! ohhhhhhh... We lived (he still does) on one of the hills about 800-1000 ft. above the lake so he may be getting even more than that!!! Ron (the ex) LOVED keeping the sidewalks and driveway clean but never would admit it! Now he has a snowblower and I think it has spoiled his fun! He even used to keep a space to and around the bar-b-que pit clean so he could still que Its easy to sigh and miss it when I'm not there IN it! PS ===== really miss that guy... he really knew how to use a snow shovel!!! |
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I moved here, Fairbanks, from So Lake Tahoe in 87, Love it there. Oddly,
it has super high snow falls, and yet has one of the sunniest climates anywhere. Even in winter, it snows and then there's the sun and blue (deep, high altitude blue) skies. I love Lake Tahoe. When I was a little girl, the family went up there to ski in the early 50s. It was one of the heaviest years for snow, the highways were closed and Tahoe was isolated for about 5 months, Emerald Bay for about 8 months. I remember that my dad took the oldest 2 children to safety then came back for mom and us other 3. By then the snow was just inches from the top of the car, almost covering the window. And cars were pretty tall back then. We finally got out. That evening the store or garage (don't remember) where we sheltered was demolished by an avalanche; and the man who had saved the lives of many people on the roads, was killed. I've been there when it snowed 6 or 8 feet in a couple days. Tina "Polly Stewart" wrote in message ... vj wrote: well, last weekend they got NINE FEET IN THREE DAYS. this weekend, they're getting SIX FEET MORE!!!! ohhhhhhh... We lived (he still does) on one of the hills about 800-1000 ft. above the lake so he may be getting even more than that!!! Ron (the ex) LOVED keeping the sidewalks and driveway clean but never would admit it! Now he has a snowblower and I think it has spoiled his fun! He even used to keep a space to and around the bar-b-que pit clean so he could still que Its easy to sigh and miss it when I'm not there IN it! PS ===== really miss that guy... he really knew how to use a snow shovel!!! |
#7
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Christina Peterson wrote:
I moved here, Fairbanks, from So Lake Tahoe in 87, Love it there. Oddly, it has super high snow falls, and yet has one of the sunniest climates anywhere. Even in winter, it snows and then there's the sun and blue (deep, high altitude blue) skies. I love Lake Tahoe. And it is so dry that even with the deepest snow it never seemed brutal. I miss it so much, especially this time of year. I heard something on the news about this weekend bringing the deepest snow since one winter in the 50's... maybe the year you were there. When I was a little girl, the family went up there to ski in the early 50s. It was one of the heaviest years for snow, the highways were closed and Tahoe was isolated for about 5 months, Emerald Bay for about 8 months. I Emerald Bay... one of the most beautiful spots in that area... I don't know if you remember the tiny road going around the lake... well they've built kazillion dollar homes at the end of that road (going up to Eagle Falls) and I dread to think what the giant SUVs are doing to the old road and the people that live there. (nothing against SUVs but they needed a different way in...not on the old, winding road) remember that my dad took the oldest 2 children to safety then came back for mom and us other 3. By then the snow was just inches from the top of the car, almost covering the window. And cars were pretty tall back then. We finally got out. That evening the store or garage (don't remember) where we sheltered was demolished by an avalanche; and the man who had saved the lives of many people on the roads, was killed. Whoa... that must have been terrifying. Yet you still love Tahoe! My son, on his first day there, commented that where ever you looked it was a postcard picture. Born and raised in SW Louisiana where everything is FLAT and he fell in love with Tahoe, took to the mountains and winter like a fish to water!!! Polly ===== I'm really still there... I just happen to live somewhere else! |
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Haw! I remember a trip I took up to Truckee one year around Christmas.
Mercury was out on the deck, in the snow, in 17 F degree weather. The snow was slowly covering him. He refused to come indoors.....he LOVED it. He hasn't changed much since then, either. |
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