To Build a Fire

It's chilly in California, which means sweaters are inadequate to keep me toasty. I can't see my breath, not inside, and I don't see dogs shivering, but it was cold enough to shrink my hands and cause my ring to fall off.

I was without it for a couple days and missed it much the way I miss teeth. I have a tendency, not unique, to grow accustom to things and, to go along with that, to miss them when they're gone.

The ring's back now and returned to my right index finger where it belongs. I can now, I hope, somehow save my life or prevent some other disaster by thrusting my hand inside a closing door or beneath a falling safe. That's what titanium rings are good for.

It does little, however, to protect my head. I should know better, but it may be another of those "grow used to" things I was just typing about, but every time I come here to housesit I give my head no fewer than two or three really impressive whacks on the hood over the range. It's the type of range that inspires one to weep for its awesomeness, and the hood is equally sturdy and, more imporantly, pointy. At least the corners are, and that's what I run into.

I think I've learned to avoid running into it, but I've thought that before. In any case, it's pretty evident that if I have learned it, that knowledge has yet to make its way to anything near what they call "long term memory."

The only other annoying thing here is that I spend my evenings looking at a fireplace that I don't think works. I'm not so naive as to try it, but it's tempting. I've never lived anywhere with a fireplace so I consider them a delightful luxury and one that can entertain me for hours. I've had friends with them and remember many enjoyable evenings spent poking the logs, a shopping item that I've never been able to include on my list. I'm sure that clerks and others in the store treat you better if you have a small load of logs, even those manmade ones, in your cart since only the better class of people are allowed to have fireplaces. While the authorities may allow arsons to have fireplaces and pokers, they draw the line at careless people or those who I imagine haven't passed some sort of fire safety test. I'm excellent with campfires but have never been blessed with owning a fireplace, not ever.
There is a small built-in electric heater in the bathroom I get to use, but as cheery as the glow of the wires is, it's just not the same thing.