That first long, cold night

Retrospect

November 15^th, 2005 - Part 2

We opened the doors of the cat carriers and each cat took its first curiosity-filled steps out into our new abode, heads cautiously bobbing up and down as they vacuumed in the sights and smells of this new environ. Taking their cue, the litter box was one of the first of our set-up tasks. That sanctuary, once established, soothed them enough to settle in. If only we could have adapted that quickly.

The creeping cold reminded us that priorities had to be addressed. Our friend in Albuquerque had lent us a benign kerosene heater which once heated his motorcycle restoration shop. We dragged the unit in from the truck and set it centrally in the fairly open kitchen and living room space, filled it with fresh fuel and lit it up. We exchanged troubled glances briefly as the expected brilliant flame did not materialize but formed a thin and quivering pencil-lead sized glow in blue around the wick. We frantically set to manipulating every conceivable knob and adjustment to be found but no improvement ensued. We assembled the new camping chairs and circled them closer to the burner like threatened prairie schooners with expectation of relief ... none came. We eventually unpacked the new Target comforter meant for the bed and drew it around our shoulders and eventually our heads like a sloppy teepee. Still no comforting heat. My toes began to complain in aching, burning ways and the cats had crept in beneath the camp chairs and curled their extremities inwards like sage Mandarins hiding their upper limbs within great sheltering sleeves. We were all in this together, freezing our collective assets off. It is times like this when the march of seconds and minutes seem to cease at a molecular level, when the slow march towards another rising of the warming sun seems eternal or maybe even impossible. We struggled to make amusing conversation through chattering teeth. It echoed mockingly off barren walls and the cats remained stoic and unmoved by our efforts.

When huddled in such abject misery, normal, simple and practical thoughts can become utterly painful and dreaded contemplations. Eating. Pragmatism announced that it had likely been 12 hours since our last meal. We at least had the foresight to realize that dainty foods would not survive and we dug around in the also new Coleman cooler to make unadorned, undressed sandwiches from the hard salami which bobbed around in the ice water and the bread which sat on the grimy inherited cabinets. I found myself momentarily thinking back to the warm, clean and ample kitchen which I had left behind and had to mentally smack myself viciously to abandon those thoughts lest utter despair seize upon my resolve. The specter of that comfortable life left behind would become a daily goblin to wrestle with as the months advanced. Ahead, there would be many times when that goblin would nearly win the best two out of three falls, disqualified from the match only by the intervention of pure fate.

Next likely post: tomorrow or the day after (if the creek don't rise)