Confessions of a Wuss

Yay!! We got our hot water back yesterday around lunch time, after a week of "camping out"!!

I've never been so glad to be a wuss in my life.

BOTH of the heating elements in the water heater were toast, and when the plumber pulled them out I could have sworn that I was on a National Geographic special. They looked like something that had been under the ocean for years -- rainbow mineral deposits galore, and the metal had actually been eaten away in several places. If I didn't know they were heating elements for my water heater, I'd probably call Jacques Cousteau's grandson in to take a look at it and identify it for me. Yikes! Our water is very mineral-laden here, especially with calcium and limestone. The water heater was put in before the conditioning system was put into place -- so a lot of damage occurred in just a few years.

But we have new elements in there, and nice running hot water that makes showers possible and washing dishes much more easy. It's not that boiling water to wash dishes is difficult (put it on the stove for a few minutes until it boils, then pour into the sink), it's just a lot easier to refresh the dish pan if hot water is available out of the tap. I guess I'm just a modern, spoiled girl.

But never fear! I'm still having pioneer experiences. Learning the ropes with this wood stove hasn't been as hard as I thought, but there is the labor aspect of hauling the wood. We got a delivery of 2 cords of wood on Monday, dumped unceremoniously in our driveway by the garage. The stacked wood pile is through a narrow gate on the other side of a short fence. I was on a time limit to get it all put up: freezing rain was supposed to start around lunchtime on Tuesday. Z's back is shot, so I wanted to get it all done before he was home. I didn't want to create any more pain for him, his 4 hours commute each day (round trip) is already killing him -- and he's stubborn enough to get in there and haul wood anyway. I was DETERMINED to get it all done. And I did.

Oh, I am a foolish mortal.

I had no wagon or wheelbarrow, nor could I get anything rigged up to drag or roll the wood through there, so I did it the old-fashioned way: I hand carried every single piece of wood to their respective piles. Let me just tell you, if you don't know how much wood makes up 2 cords, that it is a lot of wood to have to stack. A single full cord of wood is roughly 8 feet long, by 4 feet deep, by 4 feet high. The delivered pile, in which the logs were sticking out in every direction possible, was taller than I am and longer than it was tall. Of course, I'm not very tall either... We actually received a little more than two cords, I had enough to stack two cords' worth, make new end caps for the second cord's stack, and put some additional wood in the mudroom for a dry, easy morning supply before it was all put away.

Some of the wood was fresher and needed some more time to dry out before we burn it, so that all went on the far pile. The more seasoned stuff went on the closer pile. It took me five pretty much non-stop hours on Monday to move it (until it got too dark to see), and an additional hour on Tuesday morning before the rains came to get it all done. I can only carry a couple of logs at a time (more wuss confession), and this load was not split down very far. Eighteen inches of solid wood can be heavy, especially if it's a fresh tree that is almost as fat as it is long. My word. Those pioneer women all look pretty normal in the old photographs I've seen. If they did this kind of work all the time, you'd figure they'd give Arnold Schwarzenegger a run for his money!

During this process, I frequently thought of my high school language teacher (she taught French, Spanish, and German but threw in a smattering of Italian and Russian just because). Mrs. Van E was from Switzerland, but moved to this country when she was 15 or 16 years old. She only knew two phrases in English when she arrived, and they both apply here: "Oh, my aching back!" and "Son of a -----!"

MORE wuss confession: I don't care for mice. Oh, they're cute, and I couldn't physically send one to that great cheese wheel in the sky, but I don't like them in my house. We had no real issues with them last year (except for that one oddball discovery last June), but we also kept the grass pretty short around the house. This year, the tenants apparently cut the grass only a couple of times the entire summer -- which just happened to be a pretty cool, wet summer. Tall grass all the way up to the house + a hole up by the roof = mouse trouble.

After hearing the cute, fuzzy little disease-spreaders scampering about in the eaves and overhead on the acoustic tile ceilings, Z put some D-Con way back in one of the eaves (out of reach of kids and dogs). Our mice are smart little boogers and know how to trip conventional mousetraps without getting caught. I have not discovered any nibbled items in the pantry as of yet, but we figured we'd take preventative measures.

We have since learned that the D-Con does indeed work: we found one dead mouse behind the woodstove, and recently discovered another one in my son's room. In the ceiling. I had smelled something funky in there a few days ago, but thought it was just his socks and shoes (boy's got some strong foot odor -- and has since he was just a little baby). Fast-forward a few days, and it's definitely not his shoes. Or his bed, no accidents there. Or the carpet. I finally figured out that the stench was coming from the ceiling or the walls. I have to admit, I was relieved to discover that even using the little step ladder I have, I was still too short to see up in the ceiling and had to let my husband do it. Darn!

So -- two knowns disposed of; I think there's another one in a wall somewhere, though, because the smell is starting to get stronger and there aren't any more in the ceiling that we can see. I thought D-Con had something in it to prevent bad smells from dead critters? That may just be my imagination, though.

Eschk. I'd almost rather deal with scampering than this smell, but what's done is done.