Skip to main content

Global Warming, Hah! Nothing an old light bulb won't fix!

Pot on the Patio
I never thought 'twould happen!

Yesterday, fighting valiantly
against a deep depression 
brought on by cold weather--
so cold that, at night,
Jack Frost came tiptoeing in
on little cat feet--
I gathered together nearly
every root vegetable I could carry
and made a vegetable, 
beef, barley soup.  



It wasn't a very good soup, but there was a lot of it,
since I have not internalized that, in this marriage,
there are only two of us.  Do not ask me what primal urge
lies beneath that observation:  it is just a fact that
I always cook too much for too few of us.  

Our refrigerator, like many refrigerators, 
was not designed for convenience.  
The freezer is up on top, 
with the ice maker occupying one corner,
and the refrigerator space occupies the lower half,
so that the most used items are conveniently at hand
if you are three feet tall, and do not need 
adjustable shelving.  The vegetable bin 
and the meat bin are lowest down, and one of them
is located so that when the door is opened only part-way--
as is necessitated by the kitchen counter--the bin opens
only part-way, too, which is not a problem
if you are three feet tall and left-handed.

So I did what we used to do in Minnesota:
I put the pot of soup outside at night where it could freeze.
In Minnesota, in wintertime, it froze so hard 
that the pot melted before the contents did.  
Here, a teeny little crust of ice formed on top:  good enough!

We are coping.

We have fashioned two styrofoam ice chests
and two heat-producing, incandescent light bulbs
into igloos over the drip watering system controls 
to prevent the pipes from freezing.

We can see that our neighbors have covered a tree,
probably to keep the oranges or lemons from freezing,
and the tree from wimpering toward frostbite.
I have declared to all of our plants that if
they want to live in Tucson, they will have to cope, too,
without benefit of insulated blankets and old light bulbs.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Friends-- My step-father of 35 years died this morning. His name was Conrad Royksund. He was 86 years old. He was born into poverty on a farm near Puyallup, WA. He was the first member of his family to attend college and earned a PhD from the University of Chicago. He paid his way through all of that by fishing in Alaska. He spent his professional career as a college professor. I met him when I was just 3 years old and don't actually have any memories of my life befor e he was in it. He was intimidatingly smart, funny as hell, and worked his ass off. He taught me to meet people with kindness and decency until I was certain they could not be trusted. He taught me to meet ideas with carving knives until I was certain they could. I will remember him as one of the bravest, most curious, and funniest people I have ever met. He left this world with a satisfied mind. We are so grateful. Dan Hubbard

Caliche Busters and Government Work

When I was young and both stronger and smarter than I am now, I put my might and brain to work doing nothing useful, unless it might be thought that hand/foot/eye coordination might come in handy.  Those were skills to be learned and practiced.   I found an iron bar our grandfather had shaped in his blacksmith shop.  He took old car, truck, or wagon axles, and made tools from them for digging post holes.  He sharpened one end to a tip, and the other to a blade.  Washington State, like many places, had a hard layer of soil, probably created by water and limestone, or some such materials, that made digging holes a miserable chore.  The bar chipped through the natural concrete so that a shovel could take it up.   I found Grandpa's iron bar, and since I was young and dumb and strong--or so I thought--decided to punch a hole down to hardpan and ultimate truth.  I knew how to do that.  Raise the bar vertically with both hands, and then slam in straight down.  On the second try, aimi

The Sea is Rising

Let us just step back:  two hundred and fifty years ago, or so, the ships of England and Spain had drifted onto a whole new continent, as they saw it, from far north to a savagely cold south; pole to pole, as if there were such things. Millions of people already lived here, some of them still hunters and gatherers; some of them very wealthy, indeed!  Gold and silver stolen from the southern Americas funded Spanish and English dreams. There was land, lots of land, under starry skies above, rich land, and oil and coal and iron ore.  The whole western world learned how to build industries not on simple muscle power, but on steam and oil.  We farmed, too, of course.  All we needed was cheap labor--slave labor from Africa, mostly, so the ships came with slave labor.  Chinese labor built railroad beds where there had been rock cliffs. Europeans, long used to killing each other for good, religious reasons, brought their religious savagery with them.  Even when all they wanted to do w