Friday, January 13, 2017

Free dinner

We're having spuds baked in the coals of the wood stove for dinner. It's the first time we've tried it, and the results are excellent, if you ask me. It takes about 50 minutes for a medium-sized potato, turned halfway through. Wrapped in foil, of course.

We also keep a pot of water on the stove to act as a humidifier and to make tea.

These things delight me because I am cheap. And mostly Scottish. And a hippie. And cheap.

Years ago, when I lived off grid, I baked (lousy) bread in a stovepipe oven found in an antique shop. It was just a tin box with shelf and door, made to fit between pieces of stovepipe. I think I lost it in the divorce, dammit.

I have a scheme to run a coil of copper or stainless pipe through the stovepipe and out into the hall or bathroom. I can just see big waves of pipe along the lower walls – very sculptural. I'd need a pressure tank off a well pump, though.

C. has heroically saved another appliance through the magical art of cleaning. The fridge (massive, with ice maker) has been making a noise like a small plane taking off. Especially in the middle of the night. Me, I just put the headphones on. People like me have to buy a lot of appliances.

C. reefed it away from the wall, and took the vacuum and pokey brushes to it. Cleaned the dust out of all the crannies, oiled the fan, shoved it back into place. Now no more airplane noises, just a nice hum. It's a lesson to me – not to clean stuff, but to get her to clean stuff. It's miraculous what she does.

Her folks grew up in rural Montana during the Depression. They never gave up on a piece of machinery. Or broken pottery. Or ripped blue jeans. Fix it, use it up, or do without!

The animals are all doing OK, though Willie the Pomeranian seems to be aging rapidly. C. got him (ab)used from a shelter in Moses Lake, so we don't have any idea how old he is. Really, really old is our thought. Here he is in his younger days, in his sweater and with his tongue sticking out of his crooked jaw. He's a nice little guy except for the yappy Pomeranian thing.

The bathroom chicken is still in there, living like a queen in her cardboard box and dining on hard-cooked eggs sprinkled with sand. I held her for a while today and let her look at herself in the mirror. She was interested.

The winter batch of guinea keets are finally perching with the other birds, instead of humping up in the heated styrofoam box.We're so proud.

No comments:

Post a Comment