Monday, December 19, 2016

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Is Chillin'

Whew! Last night was the coldest night of the year. This almost-winter season, anyway. And you know what the coldest night of the year signals, right?

THE MANSION FURNACE QUITS!

Throws in the towel, packs up its personal effects in an old shoebox, and leaves Mrs. Hillbilly Mom and family without a liveable ambient temperature. Okay. We can survive over the short term. It's not like we're above the arctic circle, scooping out a snow cave.

Last night as I went to bed at 3:30 a.m., I glanced at the thermostat. I've been freezing for three days. Farmer H, the diplomat, says it's because I've lost a fat layer. He's a silver-tongued devil, that Farmer H. I'd hate to say he's right. It probably has something to do with my lack of a thyroid, my sensitivity to cold and heat. When I walk by and look at the thermostat, it's always on 70. That's for heat. We keep it on 74 for summer. I know my feeling of freezing is just me. Temps in the Mansion are constant.

Last night at 3:30 a.m., the thermostat said 67. Yet it was still set to hold on 70.

I wouldn't put it past Farmer H to fiddle with the furnace. He has done it before. Switched it over to Emergency Heat, saying he was giving it a rest. Funny how he never does anything to give ME a rest. Anyhoo...that never works out, because the furnace is not as warm on Emergency Heat. Go figure.

Farmer H had been up, stomping around on his footless ankles, from bed to bathroom. I made him take his head out from under the quilt and talk to me through his breather. He swore he didn't do anything to the furnace.

This morning before he left for work, he woke me. He said he put it on Emergency Heat this morning, and it didn't run. So he would call somebody to come look at it. When he put it back on regular heat, the temp was 66. He said to turn on the electric fireplace.

We have always had furnace trouble. The bad news is that Farmer H has connections with heating and cooling people through work, and got us a deal on BOTH furnaces we've had. He's gotten floor models for cheap. The good news is that Farmer H has connections with heating and cooling people through work, and whenever the furnace or air conditioner conks out, we can get a repair person here the same day.

I'm sitting around looking like Lou Diamond Phillips in an 80s movie, wearing a quilted-lining plaid flannel shirt (over my pajamas), top two buttons done, and a sock cap pulled snug down over my ears.

It's a sad day when my cold, cold heart is the warmest thing in the house.

5 comments:

Sioux said...

Cold days... That's when I like to lay in bed and read, with just my one hand snaking out from under the covers to hold the book open, my feet snug and warm under the quilt, with occasional naps to interrupt the book.

Oh. I'm sorry. I was indulging in a little fantasy. (That day of lolling around in bed will have to wait until I get a snow day because--REEE REEE REEE--my husband has the rest of the month off.

Lucky, lucky me.

fishducky said...

Have you considered burning one of Farmer H's shacks?

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
EXACTLY!

Except substitute lay in a RECLINER, with just one hand snaking out from under THE CHARTREUSE FLEECE THROW YOU WON AT YOUR SISTER THE EX-MAYOR'S WIFE'S CHRISTMAS EVE DINNER THINKING CONTEST to CHANGE CHANNELS WITH THE REMOTE CONTROL, your feet HANGING OUT FROM UNDER THE FLEECE THROW, with occasional naps to interrupt the PROGRAM.

***
fishducky,
Well, if you swear you're not the Thought Police...YES!

Kathy's Klothesline said...

So sorry you lost your heat! I f you let Puppy Jack sit next to you in that recliner, his little body will keep you warm! Cujo is my little heater in bed. Martha, the boy cat likes to keep my feet warm. My pets have jobs!

Hillbilly Mom said...

Kathy,
I would gladly let Puppy Jack sit next to me. He would even do it, without squirming to get down, if I ate a little gas station chicken right before calling him in.

Farmer H declared NO DOGS IN THE HOUSE! The boys and I both thought Jack should come in. Even JACK thought he should come in. If I leave the kitchen door open a crack, he walks right through and stands in the kitchen looking at me. Farmer H says it's because he smells food. I think it's because we let him in when he was a puppy, and Farmer H was gone to Germany.

Farmer H DID say he tried to coax Juno and Jack into the BARn while he was working in there, but Jack wouldn't come in. Huh. He knows when he's not wanted.

I wanted Jack to stay in a pet carrier in the BARn overnight. It has heat, at least 50 degrees in there. Better than 7 below. I know he can't run loose, because he'll eat something he shouldn't. But my Sweet, Sweet Juno won't. She's been shut up in there before on accident, and never bothered anything. I figured she'd keep Jack calm in the carrier, and they'd be warm. BUT Farmer H didn't know what he did with the big pet carrier. The little one won't even allow Jack to stand up in it. Last I saw, Farmer H had a little goat in that large carrier.

We think Jack burrowed in the hay bales, or went in the chicken house (wouldn't be the first time!), or in the shed with the goat and pony. He was fine. Rarin' to go!