On Toward December

Well, the leftover turkey is frozen, the carcass boiled into broth and only cranberry sauce remains. The last of the fall decorations are taken down and (almost) put away, the tree is up, the wreath is hung and visions of Christmas cookies are dancing in my head.

I just finished all my Christmas shopping and am, believe it or not, making progress on the homemade gifts. Melissa is frantically crafting, the boys are both back at college and outside it's a winter wonderland.

Time for a deep breath as we delve into December and all this holiday month entails. I'm planning on enjoying every single minute of the hustle and bustle, the baking, the wrapping, the crafting.

And hold in my heart all those who are dear to me, near and far, past and present.

The greatest symbol of the season for me is hope and joy, peace and goodwill.

We plan to spread as much cheer and happiness as we possibly can.

Dark Days Eat Local Challenge - Week 2

This meal featured an onion and potato frittata, made with local everything except salt and pepper. The onions we bought in bulk from the Downtown Des Moines Farmer's Market in October. We purposefully went at the end of the market and asked for a deal on a bushel of onions, which I believe we got for $24. The potatoes were from our CSA, the eggs and milk from a local dairy. It was truly scrumptious and will definitely make an appearance at our table again soon.


We also had zero mile sweet potatoes from our own garden. This was our first try growing sweet potatoes and they tasted fabulous roasted with a drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper. We'll need to work on our growing technique, as the potatoes were long, but too thin. I think it was due to a combination of late planting and crowded conditions.


Also on the plate are homemade dill pickles. We bought the cucumbers from a woman who advertised on Craig's List. We enjoyed the trip out to her garden and plan to buy our pickling cukes from her again next year. We had garlic from our CSA and grew our own dill. This was our first try at making dill pickles, save for the summer we got married. That attempt, which ended up limp and, frankly, yucky, is best forgotten!

Last fall we harvested and processed acorns from a nearby park into acorn meal. My youngest daughter used our favorite corn meal muffin recipe and simply replaced the whole wheat flour with acorn meal.

The muffins were fantastic!
Especially when served with homemade apricot jam and local butter.

I forgot to take a picture of our dessert of apple pie, made with local apples and flour.

In the spirit, a poverty post

I thought I'd share some recent "good deals" that took a modest amount of effort, but yielded great savings.

First, we received two Walgreen's coupons offering $25 gift cards with a prescription transfer. Sounds simple, doesn't it?

Not quite.

We had a heck of a time with poor communication between Walgreen's and our doctor's office and Walgreen's and us. It took us 3 days and 4 trips to accomplish one of the transfers. I was almost ready to forget the whole thing - I think I have issues with a low frustration level - but we finally were able to fill the prescription there and dh even used the gift card to pay for it (I think that's a no-no, but the pharmacist is the one who allowed the transaction).

Thankfully, the second transfer was much easier, though still not as convenient as the small, locally-owned pharmacy we usually use. Still, $25 is $25.

We fully intend to transfer the prescription back to Bauder's where "everybody knows your name." It's comforting to walk into the homey pharmacy/soda counter and have the pharmacists recognize you and share a bit of conversation. I also have never had to wait more than 5-10 minutes for a refill.

A second "good deal" was at a local specialty foods store, Gateway Market.

We stopped in yesterday, the day after Thanksgiving, to see if their local fresh turkeys had been marked down.

They hadn't.

At $3.99 a pound, I just couldn't justify the purchase right now.

So, I talked with the meat manager, who agreed to lower the price to $3.49 a pound, close to what the store paid (he said).

I said I had hoped for a price closer to $3.20 a pound, and he told us to go pick one out.

So, we got a $55 turkey for $44.

Fresh, local, organic, on sale.

And all I had to do was ask.

I think I'll go back on Sunday or Monday and see if I can get an even better deal.

Finally, we're not big "Black Friday" shoppers here, but yesterday saw us venturing forth for a couple deals we just couldn't pass up.

First, I sacrificed principle for savings and went to Home Depot for a $14.98 Christmas tree. I would much rather have bought our tree from a local tree farmer, but this year the savings trumped local. Along with the tree, we also snagged 10 poisettias for 99 cents each. The flowers are quite nice, with three or more blooms per plant. A great deal.

On our way home, we drove past the new Habitat for Humanity house in our neighborhood. An Afghani family was in the process of moving in, so we stopped and took them a poinsettia as a "welcome to the neighborhood gift.

Two more will find their way to a dear friend and the rest are already decking our halls.

Finally, a $79 gift I bought at Michael's a couple of weeks ago with a 50% off coupon was now on sale for only $19.99. I found the original receipt, we returned the item and repurchased it along with a 25% off coupon applied to the new price.

I know this was a good deal, but you'll have to do the math to figure out the exact savings.

Not bad returns for a little extra effort.

What happens when...

your big brother comes home from college.

Gratitude

We are so thankful.

This is our Thankful Turkey.

He has appeared at our house each and every November 1st since 1991.

The turkey starts without feathers. Every day each of us adds a feather (or two or ten) that states something for which we're thankful.

Our thanks run from the mundane "Mom's cooking," to the practical "the fireplace," to the somewhat absurd "nasal spray." We are thankful for friends and family, coffee, that my mom is recovering well from her surgery, for our pets, and on and on.

When the kids were little, the ever-expanding feathery-ness of the turkey helped to underscore how many, many things we have to be thankful for in our daily lives.


And it didn't hurt for the adults to be reminded of this, either...

Good Morning...

What greets you first thing in the morning?

Perhaps it's the glory of flowers basking in the sun's rays...

Maybe it's that first cup of coffee, steaming hot and oh, so indispensable...

It could be the grandeur of a sunrise... or the melodic laughter of a wee one.

But if you're me, you are greeted each day by something much more unique than any of the above.

In fact, it's furry, goofy and frankly, a little stinky.

No, it's not my darling husband.

There's nothing quite like waking each morning, turning over, and being greeted by this:

Oh, yes.

It's good to be me...

Sort of.

What's that smell?

My seemingly never-ending search for holiday bargains online has led to more and more store-related email finding its way into my gmail.

The other day, I opened my gmail to find this:

Well, not exactly this but something, unbelievably, inspired by these guys, who, by the way, are members of the Swiss Army.

Who knew the Swiss even had an army?
And besides, even now knowing they do have an army, why would the poster boys (gals) of military neutrality even need to dress in camouflage?


But I digress...

What is this fabulous consumer product inspired by the Swiss Army?
A Swiss army gun, complete with toothpick and scissors?
A -40 degree sleeping bag for those nights spent in the Alps?


Au contraire.
Apparently, the Swiss Army has a secret weapon.

Yes, that's right. For only $23.99, you too may project an aroma of neutrality with either Swiss Army cologne for men or, believe it or not, Swiss Army perfume for women. There's even an androgynous version for those who take non-alignment to heart.
Both fragrances tout their "refreshing" fragrance, complete with tones of "moss... and musk."Now, I don't know about you, but I have never really been attraced to a military muskiness. The men in my life are fully capable of generating an army aroma all their own with seemingly very little effort and even less expense.
And personally, I think it would be somewhat negligent of me to encourage my teenage daughter to wear eau de barracks to high school.

No word yet on whether Swiss Army Fragrance has become standard issue. If so, let's hope the Swiss maintain their neutrality.
I doubt it would take long for enemy combatants to identify that telltale scent of Edelweiss and citrus...

Home for the Holidays

Last night's "Hallmark" moment was brought to me by my family.
My family.
For the first time in months, we all were home together.
We spent the evening gathered around the fireplace, talking, laughing, reminiscing. Even the dog and the cats joined us in family reverie.
It occurred to me then how our definition of family and "coming home" changes with time. I used to consider "home" wherever my parents were, as I'm sure my kids still do today. We moved so often in my childhood that there was never a specific "place" that I equated with home; "home" was wherever my family was.
Now, home is my own house, with my husband and children. We're going to my mom's for Thanksgiving this year, but that's not going home for me.
And someday, my house will be "Grandma's house," too. As my children find love and marriage and have children of their own, my house won't be their "home" any longer.
And that's the way it should be.
I do think, however, that "home" will always be the place where we gather with our family.
Home is not a place.
It's the people we love.

Coupons Shmoopons

This poverty post is brought to you by the ubiquitous Entertainment Book.

I generally avoid purchasing entertainment books or other coupon-type deals. The last time I purchased an entertainment book was at least 10 years ago when it was being used as a fundraiser at my son's school. The book and all its coupons were put in the kitchen drawer, where they sat, untouched, until we moved several years later.

Since then, I've managed to avoid buying them, therefore saving at least $20 a year x 10.

Wow.

Unfortunately, this year I fell prey to was approached by a sweet young teen fundraising for the school chorus at fall conferences. Poor girl, her sales sheet was nearly empty, save for a purchase by a relative or two.

Who was I to deny her dreams of choral glory?

Besides, it was either the coupon book or frozen strudel.

I nearly bought the frozen strudel when I came to my senses and realized the coupon book, at $20, was less expensive and did not need cold storage.

Yesterday I spent a good half hour perusing the book, taking note of various deals and offers we might be able to use. DH has already gotten a $17.01 pizza for free, thanks to the book.

I still think I would have been better off without the coupon book, but I'm bound and determined to get my money's worth this time.

Next year, I'll better plan my route through the school during conferences to avoid the fundraising tables.

Hey, at least I didn't come home with one of the art club's painted pumpkins...

Gender Bender

Remember Brunhilde?

From the day the chicks arrived in early September, Brunhilde was the most assertive: the first to eat, the first to drink, the first to come for attention.

When all the other chicks were scared, Brunhilde would always venture forth.

She is a take-charge kind of girl.

Or rather, I should say, "was."

No, Brunhilde didn't die.

She crowed.

Yep, in the last couple of weeks, we'd noticed that Brunhilde continued to outpace her sisters in size. Gosh, even her comb was much larger than the other ladies'.

Some of us became a little suspicious of her, shall we say, persuasion, while others of us lived in denial.

It simply couldn't be true.

Then it happened. Early one morning as Sarah let the chickens out of the coop, Brunhilde ruffled herself up and let out a strangled, slightly mangled, "Cock-a-doodle-doo."

The revelation was met by shock, a few tears, and several "I-told-you-so's."

We finally had to acknowledge the truth.

Our little girl was actually... (gulp)... a guy.

What we had mistaken for femine assertiveness and henish sass turned out merely to be the result of testerone surging through her his hollow little bones.

If we lived in the country, having a rooster would be great.

Unfortunately, within the city limits, roosters are verboten.

Apparently city folks don't like to hear 'em crow.

Now, I love the sound of roosters crowing. It takes me back to the summers of my childhood spent on my grandma's farm. Bright and early every morning, the roosters would start in crowing. I find it a funny and comforting sound.

Alas, while de-crowing is possible, it certainly isn't humane.

Our days with Brunhilde Bruno are numbered.

Fortunately, our veterinarian has agreed to find him a good home; one that won't end in the soup pot.

We'll miss you Bruno.

And so will all your ladies...

From a Friend...

I couldn't agree more...

Dark Days Eat Local Challenge - Week 1

Laura, of The (not so) Urban Hennery is sponsoring a Dark Days Eat Local challenge this winter.

The rules?
Cook one meal a week featuring at least 90% local ingredients
You define local - the standard definitions range from 100, to 150 to 200 miles
Ingredients can be things you grew and preserved yourself, sourced from local farms and markets, or purchased at the store
Write about the meals you cook, your challenges finding ingredients, why you’re eating local or whatever else strikes your fancy for each recap. Photos are optional.
Include friends and family in your sourcing and eating as possible

For our first local meal, we chose a breakfast of whole grain pumpkin pancakes, local ham from "happy pigs," local butter and milk from Picket Fence Creamery and homemade applesauce with apples from a local orchard. Even the maple syrup is from Iowa! The flour in the pancakes is from Paul's Grains and the pumpkin is from our own garden.

I spent the summer sourcing as many local (basically, Iowa grown/produced) products as possible and stocked up my pantry and freezer. We also have grown much of our food this year, again canning and freezing fruits and vegetables. What we haven't grown ourselves, we preserved from our CSA sources.

Also key to making local meals is knowing what I already have on hand and basing my meals on those ingredients.

The breakfast, cooked by my darling husband Michael, was fantastic!

Ivy-lotta-trouble

This is our new baby!
Ivy will join our family December 6.
We're picking her up from the breeder in Illinois that weekend.

Oh, my god, she's adorable!
Oh, my god, what have I done?

Memories of barely surviving Wally's puppyhood with my sanity intact have been flooding my dreams lately. Maybe she'll be a really calm puppy, unlike Wally, who required daily 5 mile walks just to be tolerable indoors.

Maybe she won't need to chew as much as Wally did; at one point, we were going through upwards of $50 worth of chew toys a month, and that was 8 years ago. God only knows how much it would cost now!

We got Wally in December, too. I remember how much fun it was to house-train a puppy in the dead of winter. Maybe Ivy will be really, really smart and only take a week to trust in the house???

Maybe...

I do know, however, that she will be soft and sweet and cuddly. That we already love her wildly and we haven't even met her yet. That even Michael is getting excited about bringing her home...

And there's nothing quite like a puppy at Christmas...

Gobble?

Thanksgiving Centerpiece Number 1?

Chocolate Therapy

What do you do when your day looks like this?
How about your week?
When darkness starts to fall before 5 p.m. and the thermostat is set at 63?

This is what I do:

A little bit of chocolatey sunshine beats the early winter blues every time!

The heat from the oven doesn't hurt, either...

Night birds

Last Christmas Stephen gave Michael and me Adobe Photoshop.
Being the procrastinators that we are, neither of us has taken the time to learn how to use the program.
But the other night, Melissa took pictures of this huge flock of crows roosting in the trees in our yard. Unfortunately, the photos seemed unusable; there just hadn't been enough light.
Well, thanks to some fortuitous clicking last night, I messed with one of the photos using the Adobe program.
A totally unusable photo became this cool, artsy and somewhat creepy-looking bird shot.
I think I need to play with Adobe a little more...

Handmade = Hard Work

You may have noticed (all 3 of my readers, that is) the little "I took the handmade pledge" button on the right. If I remember correctly, I took the pledge sometime last spring, well after family birthdays and certainly in plenty of time for Christmas gifting.

I had the best of intentions.

Really, I did.

But then a little thing called "life" got in the way, sidetracking me with troublesomely annoying time suckers like bushels of apples, sick pets, family illness, leaky roofs and a multitude of unplanned-for expenses.

My life is really no busier than anyone else's, yet time to "craft," which for me basically means easy crochet patterns, always seems to get pushed to the back burner, while the time to complete them slowly boils away.

So, here we are in the middle of November and I have yet to complete a single handmade item for anyone on my Christmas list. If I were an expert at crocheting, as I remember my grandmother being, I could work on afghans, throws, purses and what-have-you while watching tv, engaging in conversation or solving The New York Times crossword puzzle. all without missing a stitch.

Unfortunately, except for the most basic of patterns, I need complete silence and oodles of time to make anything remotely giftable.

Then there's the worry.

Will she like the color? Is the yarn soft enough? What if it falls apart right after I give it to him?

Sometimes the worrying alone can make the handmade gifting process as pleasurable as, well, a root canal. Fortunately, my youngest daughter serves as an untrained, yet quite effective, psychologist when I'm lost in the worry department.

Somehow, in my family full of anxiety disorders, Melissa has (so far) escaped the family curse. We used to joke, years ago when life was a little more bleak and outcomes of treatment a little less certain, about Melissa's lucky evasion. "Poor Melissa, it isn't her fault she doesn't have a mental illness."

Anyway, when I'm in the craft store, nearly driven to my knees in distress over yarn color combinations or which hook to use, Melissa comes in handy. You've heard of a worry stone? A grooved stone people with anxiety carry in their pockets, rubbing it's smooth surface to help rid themselves of excessive worry?

Let's just call Melissa my "decision-stone."

She'll very patiently calm me down and, with the clarity of the unafflicted, point me toward the path of near decisiveness.

So far this year, I have completed three projects: two afghans (birthday gifts) and a scarf to donate. Melissa, on the other hand, churns out purses, hats, scarves, throws and rugs on a near weekly basis.

If I don't get busy here in the next couple of weeks, I may have to buy my handmade gifts. They'll still be handmade, but from Melissa's hands.

Hmm, that really would save me a lot of time...

Rewind

I have spent fully half my adult life reading out loud.

No kidding.

I really have.

I started reading to my babies from board books at 3 months old. By the time they were 6 months, they would sit on my lap, wriggling in excitement and anticipation over what would come next in the "story."

As the kids graduated from board books, we moved into the realm of Little Golden Books, Sesame Street stories and The Berenstain Bears. From there, it was a short hop to Uncle Wiggily, Grimms Fairytales and King Arthur.

We read in the morning, before and after naps and before bed each and every night, to each and every child.

There were times when I would be reading a novel to the boys, a separate book to Sarah, and still different books to Melissa. We used to have "reading marathons," when I would tell the kids to choose a stack of books each and we would snuggle up in bed or on the couch and read, read, read to our hearts' content.

My parents thought we were a little weird to be still be reading to our teenage sons, but as long as they enjoyed it, Michael and I were happy to oblige. Besides, it was fun to share more adult humor and science fiction/fantasy with our kids.

With the decision to homeschool came even more reading aloud, as the kids were all home for more hours every day. We delved into historical fiction, mythology and classical literature. There were times when I was reading upwards of 3 or 4 hours a day.

Out loud.

Yesterday was one such day, as I read the new Cornelia Funke book, "Inkdeath," to Melissa while she ate breakfast, during lunch and well into the afternoon. I joke that Melissa uses me as her tape player, reading to her while she works on crochet projects, woodburning, artwork, etc.

I remember the last book I read to all four children at once. "Watership Down," by Richard Adams, was a fantastic family read. My two girls snuggled on each side of me, my teenage boys sprawled across the foot of the bed and dh often squeezed in somewhere while we all enjoyed the novel together.

Reading to my kids, introducing them to the glory of a good story, the thrill of finding a book you just can't put down, has been one of the most fulfiling activities of my motherhood.

Unfortunately, my ability to continue reading while basically asleep has also provided a lifetime of hilarity for my kids. As I begin to fall asleep, random phrases creep into the text, such as the time I boldy read of the knight who "donned his shining earrings" or the time the pharoah and his enemy decided to "meet over a cup of coffee."

I have also been known to read entire chapters and not be able to remember what I've read. Far too often, the girls have had to recap the previous night's adventures, as I have no memory whatsoever of having read them.

Melissa is only 11 1/2, so I figure I have a good 6 or 7 years of reading aloud left before grandchildren.

Although, I've always thought it would be fun to read a book out loud with my husband...

If it isn't one thing...

We have a leak in our roof. Estimated repair cost: $2,000 and they can't fix it until mid-December. Dh plans to climb onto our 3-story-high roof tomorrow morning and attempt to patch the leak with roof tar. Dear friend's husband plans to serve as ballast. Tomorrow's high? 37.
No one wants to buy our Prius. No one.
We recently added yet another prescription medication to our family's pharmacopia. Co-pay: Yet another $25 a month.
Our little Lester likely has an auto-immune disease, a la lupus. Currently, he's on 3 different medications and his poor little eyes are still red-rimmed and sore. Likely, there soon will be a trip to the Vet. Med. school at Iowa State University. Big Bucks.
Other happy thoughts? College tuition and books, two kids need new shoes, my nice winter coat doesn't fit me anymore and my favorite pair of jeans has a hole.

Good news?
So far, I'm sticking to my "cash only" Christmas budget and have found some great deals buying used electronics and books.
I'm well-stocked for food, so the plan is to only buy fresh fruit and milk products at the grocery store this month.
Dh and I are well on our way to simplifying our financial accounting system and working out a do-able budget.

The truly odd thing is, I feel weirdly optimistic.
Not exactly a normal feeling for me.
Perhaps, it's the more focused approach to money and life I've been taking lately.

Then again, it might just be that Snickers bar I just ate...

How much wood..

Something happened to me last week.
I spent the week in Arkansas taking care of my mom, helping her transition to being home from the hospital after major abdominal surgery, cooking, cleaning, etc. My mom is a why-put-off-til-tomorrow-what-you-can-do-right-now kind of person.

An example? She has never, in all her 79 years, owned a laundry basket. Even when she was a working mother of 4 children, the laundry was always washed, dried, folded and put away all in one episode. I can honestly say that my mom has never had to rewash a load of laundry because it sat in the machine so long it smells musty.

I, on the other hand, am a procrastinator extraordinaire.

But I came home from my mom's energized. I mean, all week I've been getting up, drinking my coffee, and actually getting things done. Bathroom cleaning. Vacuuming. Packing away Halloween decorations. Washing dishes. Actually washing, drying and folding laundry all in the same day.

Now, I've obviously spent time with my mom before as an adult, but never when I had to do for her. This time she needed me and I actually was able to adequately care for her, though there were a couple of nights when I thought I would simply collapse into bed never to rise again.

I've lived so carefully in recent years, monitoring my activities, measuring my energy level, prioritizing based on my physical limitations, that I forgot what's it's like to truly be active. Yes, I've been walking the dog two miles a day for about 6 months, cooking and canning. But I'm still living as if I had to be exceedingly careful of my energy levels in order to function the next day. Being at my mom's last week forced me out of a pattern of behavior I'd fallen into over the past 4 or 5 years as my then-undiagnosed hypothyroidism worsened.

Last year at this time, I could barely make it through the day. I would wake up exhausted, feeling as if I needed to go back to bed after only being up for a couple of hours. If I forced a spate of activity on myself, I could hardly function the next day. There were even a few days when I couldn't - literally was unable - to go get my daughter from school midday and I had to call my husband to pick her up. Times when I was so exhausted on my way home from an errand or activity that I was worried about my driving. Times when I couldn't stop to pick up a loaf of bread or gallon of milk because I didn't have enough energy to get out of the van.

This past week with my mom showed me that I can venture back into the realm of the truly active. After all, I'm only 45, but at times I have felt much, much older.

So today, in honor of my newfound zest, I stacked an entire pickup truck load of wood. There were times when I certainly wanted to stop, especially when I had a minor avalanche, but I needed to prove to myself that I could do it. That, and I wanted to do it as a gift for my husband, who has had to pick up the slack all these years and has done so willingly, lovingly and most of all, patiently.

So Michael, this wood pile may not be pretty, but it's for you.

Now, can someone pass me the aleve and a heating pad?

Halloween sans Tricks

Medusa and I spent last week in Arkansas helping my mom in her first week home from the hospital. She is doing amazingly well, after spending 24 days hospitalized. I was pleasantly surprised by how physically strong she is after such an ordeal. We were able to see her gain strength on a daily basis.

Melissa decided not to trick-or-treat, but went ahead and dressed in her Medusa constume for a few hours. I think she looked quite creepy.

She and I also tried our hand at pumpkin painting and constuming. It was easy and lots of fun.

Melissa created the witch.

And I created the mummy.

While she missed our usual Halloween celebration with friends, I know Melissa feels the same way I do.

Neither one of us would have missed that week my my mom for all the candy in the world.

Two degrees of separation

That's all there is between cold comfort and icy misery.
I had been congratulating myself on my pioneer stamina, my toughness in the face of freezing temperatures. I would survive without heat until November 1st. Crown me Queen Frostine.
That was until the temperature in the house dropped to 61 degrees two weeks ago on Monday.
Okay, I was no wimp. The fireplace insert was due to be installed on Wednesday, I knew I could make it two days. Especially since my family was with me all the way.
But as my body temperature began to drop, Melissa turned from cheerleader to drill sergeant. My still, nearly lifeless form rarely moved from under the blankets on the couch all day. I know this is contrary to the theory of keeping warm: the colder you are, the more you should move around.
But something strange happens to the mind as hypothermia sets in. Instead of bustling around the house to keep warm, I huddled even deeper into the couch, with all blood flowing to my core to keep my vital organs functioning. I even started to beg Melissa to let me turn on the heat.
"No, Mom. This was your idea, it's your own fault. We can make it."

Wednesday dawned bright and cold. But this was the day! Glorious heat would again be mine! The fireplace guys came and installed the insert. Yippee!
I was so excited, I even felt a little perky as I clung to my heating pad.

Several hours later, I excitedly viewed the insert. Um, something seemed to be missing. Something other than the surround (that will have to be built later, once I've chosen tile).

What could it be?

Oh yes, shouldn't there be a, um, door on the insert?

The door? Well, that's on back order and won't be available until the end of November.

I would have wept, but I was afraid the frozen tears would bruise my feet.

What could I do? It's the only wood burning insert in the world that will fit the weird dimensions of my 1904 fireplace. I wanted that fireplace. I needed that heat.

All I could do was refuse to pay and beg Melissa to cut me some slack and turn on the heat.

Please.

Just a degree?

Even the cats were on my side, scurrying around the house, their fluffed fur making them appear twice as large as normal, grabbing any and every lap as soon as one was created. The dog hadn't moved all day from under the fleece blanket we had placed on him that morning. He peered at me sadly from under the fringe.

No. We can make it to November 1.

Let's just say my reply wasn't very nice.

Try spending two whole days clenched in a huddle and see if you don't get a little crabby, too.

I spent the afternoon hunched over the computer searching for ways prehistoric man kept warm and trying to find the average indoor temperature of a pioneer home. Funny, there was little data available.

My misery was compounded by the death of our microwave earlier in the week, rendering my second cup of morning coffee little more than an iced latte. How did people warm their coffee before microwaves?

Which led me to this thought:

I've always known that I never would have made it past Pennsylvania in pioneer days, but this experience has caused me to reconsider. I may not even have made it far enough west to hit the border of New York.

See this poor woman? She made it as far as Idaho.

After that, Lizzie was just never quite the same.

Finally, late in the afternoon, I grabbed Sarah and in my heat-deprived frenzy begged her to bring down the portable heater from the attic. We had it downstairs and plugged in before the little dictator my darling Melissa knew what was happening.

The heater's warmth drew us in like moths to a flame. We took turns hugging the heater, barely avoiding a fight or two for best positioning.
Finally, the absurdity of the situation - and my freezing hands - prompted me to exert my rights as bill payer, muffin baker and mother.

We would turn on the heat, dammit.

But just enough to let it run.

Once.

The indoor temperature gradually rose from a frosty 61 degrees to an oh-my god-I-can-feel-my-toes-again 63.

That's all it took. Just two little degrees to go from hiding under the blankets to my usual state of semi-functioning.

Good news soon followed: the fireplace company located a door and would come the next day to install it. We would have carbon-neutral heat available in less than 24 hours! (Hm, do you think maybe my refusal to pay had something to do with that?)

It was amazing to see what just two little degrees could do for me.

Now there's just one little problem.

Anybody have any extra work gloves?