The Curmudgeon Lives A Country Music Song: Part 3

Things went from bad to worse. Mrs. Curmudgeon staggered off to work; where she’d either pick up more germs from the original sources or spread hers back into the environment. I’m convinced offices are tailor made to spread germs. They’re probably less safe than skinny dipping in a ditch in the Calcutta slums.

Meanwhile I was toast. I called in a day off work and promised myself I’d “beat this thing” in time for the afternoon session. Denial is not just a river in Egypt.

I was suffering. It took hours to work up the head of steam needed to brush my teeth! Holy shit was I floored.

I wound up sitting at my computer with bits and pieces of the Squirrels story scattered everywhere. I was making no progress and had paper printouts spread on every surface. I don’t even remember what I did or wrote.

I was shivering. Very slowly I realized my shivering was NOT just a fever. I’d let the woodstove go down to coals and the furnace wasn’t picking up the slack. WTF? That’s why we have a furnace… for times when I’m too messed up to play with firewood (or away traveling).

In jammies and slippers, I ventured into the basement. The furnace was cold. I checked the tank. Holy shit! I’d meant to call for a fuel delivery on Day #1 but in the rush of the day I’d plum forgot. I had 1/16^th a tank left… tops.

Even so, a furnace, like a real (non-electric) engine, runs until it doesn’t. Almost out of fuel is no biggie. Like the Federal debt it’s a problem that’s not a problem until it is a crushing one. The tank would inevitably run dry in the near future but everything should work fine right until the last minute. Thus, the dead furnace was a mystery.

Ten minutes of flipping switches and messing with the thermostat and it roared back to life. Huh!?! I didn’t really know why it had gone out and I didn’t really know why it had started. I wasn’t thinking clearly anyway.

I enjoyed what heat we had and called for a delivery of fuel. After some verbal begging they promised to come the next day… which they almost certainly wouldn’t do. (I gave 1 in 5 odds of a delivery in less than 3 days.) The alternative is I fill up with #2 off road diesel from the pumps at the nearest town. This works fine but is labor intensive. I didn’t want to mess with it while I was feeling feverish. (Imagine dragging a five gallon can of fuel through a snowdrift when you can barely brush your teeth.)

By mid-afternoon Mrs. Curmudgeon showed up. She’d tried mightily but had to bail on her work too. She arrived with juice. What a hero!

There was regular orange juice and a wildcard: cranberry-pineapple (two fruits that shouldn’t exist on the same continental plate). It was surprisingly good. I’ll try it with vodka when I’m feeling better. Honestly, in my condition I’d drink anything either hot or with sugar to soothe my throat.

I made weak motions that I was going to fire up my truck and head for the sunset workout. Mrs. Curmudgeon is a genius. She didn’t argue with me (which wouldn’t have worked). Instead she handed me a 16-ounce fuzzy navel. It was delicious and soothed my throat. I practically passed out after the first sip. By the time I woke up, it was too late to tilt at windmills. She’s a keeper!