Winter’s hush has stolen across this land. For two days we’ve been in the slick deep-freeze of frozen fog at 17 degrees. After my feet just about went out from under me this morning with an ever-increasing layer of ice, I used my last bag of cat litter (sorry Tucker), scattering it across my RV steps and the entire porch, ramp and steps leading to my parent’s house.
Although beautiful in its way, this stuff is no joke. The entire RV has frozen again; as last night we ran out of propane at 3 a.m. Despite running some electric space heaters to try and evaporate the condensation literally dripping behind the bed which has left the mattress a sopping mess of mold at the head leaning against the slide sidewall, all our water pipes remain stubbornly frozen. Do you know what’s it like to try and live in a place with every cupboard, door and drawer wide open?
I’m feeling like the Scrooge who stole Christmas; in such a foul mood I don’t recognize myself. I am sick of this cold, sick of being in a town I don’t want to be in, sick of the damage we are encountering in our RV on a daily basis, sick of sliding around corners when I try and drive my non-4 wheel drive car with bald tires. And sick that my father is still in the hospital and not making a whole lot of progress. Ah…is this what is meant by “the winter of our discontent?”