Time Factoring

Billable hours, whatever your going rate. It's difficult to place a value on some things. Highs of 15 degrees and lows at or below zero for the next several days. Got up about four and started trying to get the house warm. By eleven I could finally move over to my desk chair, with a lap-blanket and fingerless gloves. Brittle cold outside. I started melting snow right away, before it gets too dirty, I need to filter some and boil drinking water. Thinking what to cook tomorrow, to last another few days. A rice dish, with caramelized onions and peppers, and cracklings. I dug a James Lee Burke out of the Goodwill pile and settled in for a day of reading. Set the book down, stare out the window, get a mug of tea, put a log on the fire, write a few lines. Suit up, for three trips to the woodshed, and put off a walk, even just down to the head of the driveway, until tomorrow. It's too cold to fuck around. Besides, as Basho said, "lucky to be here / in my own hut". I'd been reading about French Fries, so I made a couple of small batches. My problem here is that I Iike any fried potato. A litany of transgressions. Got back up at one in the morning, caught the fire perfectly, opened the damper for a few minutes, then damped it right back down; the refractory heat in the firebox, with a bed of coals, is incredible, the oven is very hot, 600 degrees, and it nags me that I don't need to cook anything. When I got up yesterday, I was feeling my age, the house was cold, and I couldn't remember how to tie my shoelaces. First you stoke the fire, then you put on coffee, then you go outside to pee. It all comes back to you, how beautiful and unforgiving the world is. Below zero, without a thermostat, life is difficult. Still, I accept the challenge.