Bundling up for the winter

I hate winter. Always have, probably always will. The cold is bad enough but the lack of sunlight makes the days downright miserable. Plus having a cat perched on my arm as I attempt to type this column is an added challenge. I don’t chase her away because she is an extra source of warmth. Maybe we should get a big, fluffy dog to sit on my feet and keep them warm. I doubt if Gracie, the cat, would approve, so forget that idea.
Winter is the longest part of the year. 90 days seem to last forever. When I wake up to a cold house it brings me back to when I was a little girl. We had a fuel oil stove in the middle of the house. There was also a small propane stove in the kitchen. There wasn’t any duct work and I seriously doubt if there was much in the way of insulation. Needless to say, the only warm places in the house were within inches of either of the stoves.
 We had one register in the floor that was supposed to heat the upstairs. The theory was that heat rises and one register was enough. That theory didn’t work out too well. Plus when the adults were fighting one would retreat upstairs while the other would close the register thus rendering the upstairs even more frigid. I should know because I slept upstairs under a pile of blankets that weighed more than I did. I still equate the weight of the blankets with the amount of warmth they provide.
 After Mom and Harvey got married they lived in a little four-room house that used to be a toll booth. It had a coal stove in the middle of the living room. Coal is a whole lot warmer than fuel oil. That house gave new meaning to the term toasty. It was wonderful. It didn’t have insulation either, but the coal put out enough heat and the house was small enough that it didn’t matter.
The coal was often supplemented by whatever burnable trash we had. We recycled paper and cardboard into heat long before the term recyclable became fashionable. Air pollution was not a concern. I still remember my little brother tossing his plastic cars into the stove because he was tired of them. He obviously didn’t inherit the hoarding gene the rest of us have. The plastic would melt into great chunks that we called clinkers and would have to be fished out of the bottom of the stove on a regular basis.
I have had an ongoing battle with winter heat for most of my adult life. Every house I have ever bought has needed a new furnace within months of my moving in. This happens even if I insist on having the furnace inspected and approved before purchase.
If by some miracle the furnace is workable then the duct work falls apart so that the heat can’t find its way to the inside of the house.
 We have put two new furnaces into our current house. This last one was supposed to come with huge tax credits but that didn’t pan out. Then last year’s flood wiped out the duct work and left us with more expenses than heat. As the comedienne Gilda Radner used to say, “It’s always something.”
I want nothing more than to curl up under a huge pile of blankets and sleep until that day when the air changes and the smell of spring is finally in the air. It is about 60 more days until that will happen and even I can’t sleep that long.
So I wear layers upon layers of clothing and go about my days grumbling about the weather. I may bake some bread or something just to warm up the kitchen.
Or I may remind myself that I no longer have to rely on a fuel oil stove for winter heat and, for that, I am grateful.[[In-content Ad]]