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?