I've Got My Memories To Keep Me Warm

So yes, it is cold. We have the heat off and right now it's about forty-five degrees in the house although there's a space heater in the room where Mr. Moon and some neighbors are watching a basketball game and a space heater in the room where I am writiing this, so it's not so bad. I have on many layers of clothing and we'll make it through the night, even though it's supposed to get down to about fifteen degrees.
Yes. Fifteen. And they had snow at Disney World, which just cracks me up.

Florida. Ya just never know.

But it's gotten me to thinking, this cold, about other times I've been cold and how one time, when Mr. Moon and I went to New Orleans when we'd only known each other for a month it was so cold there that that the whole damn city water system had frozen and there was no running water and we stayed in some guy's apartment which was filthy and freezing and there was no water and yet, we had such a good time. Such a very, very good time.

And I've been thinking about how when Hank was only about seven months old, his daddy and I and another friend moved into a shack where you could see the outdoors from between the boards in the walls and the floors and we did have a wood stove but we had no wood cut at first so we burned some old wood furniture in that stove. And we didn't have a bathroom or running water in the house- just an outhouse and a rusty old hand pump outside and how I had to pump the chunks of ice to get the water flowing. We survived.

But the time I'm thinking of where there was just NO relief from the cold was a time when I was pregnant with Hank. His daddy and I went to visit friends in Tennessee for Thanksgiving. I was a few months pregnant with Hank and we weren't married yet, his daddy and I. It was so cold and our friends lived in a house that looked much like the one in the picture above. They had a woodstove but only in the kitchen and when it got time to go to bed, I thought I'd die. I had on layers and layers of thermals and socks and there were piles of blankets and quilts, but Lord God Almighty, that old house was drafty and it was cold. They had no bathroom either, or running water. Just an outhouse and I have a vague memory of having to go out there in the frozen moonlit night, pulling down all those layers of pants and thermal underwear, sitting my ass on the cold wood and wondering if my steaming pee would make it to the ground before it froze.

We hippies put ourselves through some crazy shit, trying to prove that we were strong and able and trying to get back to the land. We discovered that the land could be cruel but it could be wonderful, too. I envied my friends that drafty old house on a hill in Tennessee. It seemed like a fine place to live to me, cold as it was. We made Thanksgiving in that woodstove-heated kitchen, and the only thing I remember us cooking was a soybean casserole and vegetarian gravy made with flour and milk and soy sauce. Can't say much for the casserole but that damn gravy was awesome.

So a night in Lloyd without the central heat isn't such a big deal. I have on layers, yes, and we have the space heaters. I made a big pot of white bean and venison chili (Mr. Moon's favorite and a favorite of mine as well), thickened with corn meal and heavy on the garlic and cumin. I do hate being cold but I'm not suffering. We have indoor plumbing and lots of dogs to snuggle with if we need to. We have electricity and running water. And I am damn grateful for those.

You don't miss your water, they say, 'til your well done run dry and I agree with that. In fact, I think it s a damn good thing for your well to run dry occasionally to remind you of how the simplest things are the most important things. The people who lived in this house a hundred and fifty years ago didn't have gas heat and they didn't have running water and they didn't have bathrooms and they didn't have cars to get them to the stores they also didn't have and they survived. I'm not as tough as they were. I know that. But because I was a hippie, back-to-the-land baby-boomer who told society they could stick it where the sun don't shine because I could live without all your modern conveniences, I know I can do it. I've lived without running water, without any heat but wood, and without electricity. Not for too long, thank God, but long enough to know what it's like. Long enough to know that humans, like hens, are hardier and more resilient than we know.

So one night without heat? Oh please. I can get in the damn bathtub if it gets too cold. I've got me a man and four dogs to cuddle with. I have SPACE HEATERS!
And cashmere. And even...a mink jacket which is the warmest garment I own. I could sleep in that thing if I wanted to. Mr. Moon would probably like that. He bought it off the sister-in-law of a business partner of his years ago and I wear it approximately once a year and I do not feel guilty. Those minks had been dead a long damn time by the time I got it and I cherish it and bless those little minks every time I put it on and I think about how our ancestors wore furs to keep warm and that is partially the reason we're still here as a species. No. We don't need them anymore. At least not in the First World, where we live. But they sure are warm, those furs are and we probably pay the big bucks for them because our DNA tells us that if we have enough fur to wrap ourselves in, we will survive and so will our babies.

It's Sunday night and it's cold and I feel lucky. Now if the pipes freeze and the gas man can't get here tomorrow, I'll be singing a different song. I'll be bitching. You can count on it. But one night? Oh honey. That's an ADVENTURE, not an adversity. I've been colder before.

And when that heat comes back on after the gas man leaves, I'll know damn well how lucky I am.

And that's a good thing. That's a real good thing.

Cuddle up. Stay warm. Don't feel guilty to wear your furs if you have 'em and need 'em.

I won't. Maybe I should, but I will not.

And I will be so grateful not to have to go sit my ass on wood in an outhouse to pee tonight. Even if you've never had to do that, you be grateful too. But it might be a nice thing to go outside anyway, to look at the black star-punched night sky.

Just for a minute. It won't kill you. And you'll feel so much warmer when you come inside.

Night-night. Sweet dreams. Sleep tight.