To move into a house of one’s own . . . almost

         Eric and I have moved from our home, my home for the last year and three months and his for the last almost three months, to a small cabin sheltered by the growth of pines and solitary leafless birches.  The steps to reach that place still remain a fog in my mind although I do know that it took a great deal of energy to finish insulating the house and to get the place somewhat livable.  You see the cabin had been filled to the brim with discarded clothing, couches, and other nameless odd items.  Les did everyone the favor of removing this junk and stowing it behind a nearby shed while waiting for a dumpster.  The dumpster has not appeared yet so a forlorn couch still waits encrusted in ice and the ever present hoar-frost.  We torn into the cabin this past summer to find vestiges of carpet padding in the walls to insulate against prevailing winter winds.  In other areas the insulation simply did not exist.  So, while Les refitted the cabin with new windows and doors, the rest of us fell to the task of removing all wall covering and adding five inches of insulation.  None too much, but better than the lack thereof.  The bathroom was getting tiled in late October and my friend, LeRoy, fitted the cabin with plumbing.  Towards the beginning of November, Laura, Alison, and Maria squared away the final touches of painting and cleaning.  Now, we are living there.

The cabin is a great and lonely place.  It is equipped with almost everything two bachelors need to stay alive; all but the food.  However, it is also a place where I have experienced some real frustration over the last month.  First, our well pump completely succumbed to entropy.  The motor burned up because one of the phases shorted out, and then when John got the motor rewound and re-reinstalled the pump just dribbled water out of the bottom and refused to pump.  So, we were without water at all for three or so weeks.  John faithfully hauled water over to us in bottles in the back of his van, but I was not always a happy trooper.  During this time the wood we were trying to burn was totally green wood which only sizzled and smoked in the fireplace.  It was downright cold to come home after a day of teaching and to watch your breath drift away in a white cloud towards the ceiling.  I bought a splitting maul and Eric and I fell upon the wood with viciousness (being cold makes you vicious) until we had split most of it into kindling sized pieces that would burn.  And the wood burned much better this way and made a lot of smoke.  So, those were our troubles with water and heat.

Now we are learning to cook.  Whow, look out!  Here come the yo, yo . . . two . . . two. . . who thought they was coo’ . . . they cook up some chow . . .  think they’ve got it dow’ . . . try ‘gain, try ‘gain, I say . . .we do it again . . . forget about the soup . . . do the loop . . . split some wood . . . think we done what we should . . . but then, yo, we smelled . . . oh . . . no . . . got the stuff in the pot . . . got it way too hot . . . wish a breeze would blow low . . . broths on the flo’ . . . the lentils are black . . . smell! you know you lost track . . . go to the fence . . . try not to dance . . . with the rage in yo bones . . . you done bad . . . ain’t got the lentils, wish you had . . . read on the web . . . know what a woman said? . . . she said . . . yeah she said . . . go to bed . . . don’t fret . . .  just open a can u spam . . . forget about it, man . . . but man, my stomach’s in a jam . . . ate nothing since one . . . won’t be no fun . . . hit the sack with no grub . . . no man, ain’t no chub . . . just want some food . . . anything good . . . don’t matt’r its hot o not . . . not really ready to eat  rot . . . but, hey, got to be a way . . . to live in the day . . . listen to uh (her) . . . she’s got somethin’ ta say . . . its the mother . . . it’s the sister . . . they know how to do it . . . they cook it, they stew it . . . wish I knew how to do it . . . but wait fo’ a minute . . . take a moment . . . be silent, brotha . . . give them the honor . . . speak really tender . . . it’s a gift, man . . . a gift from the Fatha . . . they do it . . . but I forget it . . . leave the table . . . blew it . . . forgot the meaning . . . the sacrificial love . . . sent from above . . . its the cook . . . just give her a look . . . yo, that food was top . . . remember L M Alcott . . . keeping house . . . ain’t no joke

Life is much easier now, we have enough pressure from our pump to get water in the sink even warm water sometimes.  John and I got some dry apple wood that has been burning much more reasonably than anything so far.  Christmas is upon us and past.  I want to thank God for his Son and for the peace on earth that He came to give.  Men will always fight but there can be peace in our hearts because of Him.

With Polski Rolski this is Robin signing off.