Here's Selena

Homage to a Furnace

"This is what I am talking about," said Sharon, standing in front of the open oven door. "Real heat."

We had been cold all day and were never able to quite get toasty enough.

"Do you remember the days of our old furnace?" I asked her, joining her at the oven door. And so we remembered…

In the house of our childhood, we had had an old furnace that had to be lit every fall at the outset of the cold season by crawling under the house. It took up about a 2' x 3' area in the hall in front of the living room door. It was covered by a metal grate and was controlled by a thermostat on the wall. You could always tell when the cold season had arrived by the smell of the burning dust that had accumulated on top of it over the summer. Once it had gotten the dust out of its system, all was well. And during the winter, family life centered around that crusty old furnace.

Every Sunday the after church, the first thing we would do after we got home was to gather around the furnace and "toast" ourselves—something our mother taught us to do quite well. "I'm toasting" was just as commonly heard as was "I'm reading." Everyone would take a side of the furnace, and our skirts would go billowing out. We could tell who was hogging the heat by whose skirt was the most "present." The best position was to stand across the corner—one foot in the living room and one foot in the hall. Our legs would turn bright red from the heat—and yet, we continued to toast until we couldn't stand it anymore.

It was while on this furnace that "Knuckle Juice" was commonly ingested. Knuckle Juice was invented by none other than my mother. As we would toast ourselves while gathered around her skirt, something would happen to Mom. Instead of being the kind, compassionate mother we normally had when she was not toasting, she would get a look in her eye and turn all mean; she would grab the fist of her nearest offspring and would demand some Knuckle Juice. "I want some Knuckle Juice," she would roar, and whoever the Victim of the Day was would [could only] protest with all the vigor of a worm. The fist would finally make it up to her mouth, and she would "gnaw" on it until we thought we must surely be the unfortunate, but infamous, Hansel or Gretel. When we were giggling helplessly and held up only by the fist wedged firmly in her mouth, she would let us return to our prior state. There was nothing quite like the terror of having your mother come after you for Knuckle Juice. To this day, we know to give proper respect to that vicious monster that now lies dormant—but we know he is still there just waiting for another dose of good ol' Knuckle Juice.

The hall in which the furnace resided led directly from the kitchen to the laundry. Like most children, we routinely ran through the house. But we knew enough to give the old furnace some respect. And so the dash from the front door to the back bedroom via the hall would require a fancy sprint. You either had enough speed that you would jump over the entire thing, or mid furnace your right leg would take a detour to the living room, after which your left leg carried you into the hall and back on track.

We had steel-wheeled roller skates that we used regularly. That old furnace was nothing more than a bump in the road during the summer time, if we had enough speed. Our little steel wheels would only occasionally get caught in the grate.

One time during the winter, I misjudged the physics that surrounded the furnace, and I tripped and fell, landing on top of the hot furnace grate. I had burns in the shape of a grid across my leg for the next little while.

We had another furnace very similar to the above-referenced that resided at the far end of the dining room. It was by this furnace that the infamous cat (who caused my dad to upchuck his cheerios) died. It was seemingly not only people who enjoyed toasting, but also our entire entourage of cats. They loved to crawl under the house in cold weather to bask in its warmth.

Ahh, yes. That was real heat, but sadly enough, that furnace is no longer around. It has been replaced by several gas heaters over the years and, just recently, central heat and air.

But you just can't get warm enough in this below 20 degree weather. I have to say, that was one fine furnace!

 

Pantry Talk

It seems we have a chronic problem at our house with food. I told Sharon the other day, "Never have I seen a pantry so full that has nothing in it to eat."

Some of the stuff really is worthless: like the bag of doughnut mix that Sharon picked up at some bulk food shop in Indiana a couple years ago. It's been so long ago that the directions have completely disappeared so we can't make them if we wanted to. Then there's the box of Marzipan Cappuccino we got in Germany. I decided cappuccino in Germany is different from cappuccino here in the States, and it is best left alone. Then there are the various cake and brownie mixes you keep around just in case you get in a pinch and have to take something somewhere sometime. There are boxes of jello and pudding, but that's more of a dessert than it is a staple. Partially eaten bags of this or that just keep sitting there creating their own "ghost town" legacy.

We do have a couple things that present at least a little value, such as pasta or rice. But in order to have good pasta or rice, you have to have some kind of sauce and a meat. Rarely can we time it so that we have all the ingredients in our kitchen for a stellar pasta dish all at the same time. So when we do have a pasta dish, it is usually something like plain old spaghetti. IF we happen to have hamburger that hasn't been freezer burned, that is.

See, that's our other problem. Our freezer is a horrid little freezer. It looks all nice and innocent on the outside, but on the inside (where it matters), it ruins our food with frost if we keep it for more than "a reasonable length of time" (which we routinely do).

We do have canned green beans in our pantry, but green beans are best when eaten with a main dish or are part of the main dish themselves. They're not so great when they themselves are the main dish.

Fresh fruit and vegetables we buy present their own problems. First of all, some of them really struggle from the moment they're picked up off the shelves, particularly in the winter time. Secondly, they end up being victims of gross and wanton neglect. For example, the apple that I thought I would be sure to eat when I picked it up in the store sits in the fruit bowl for a couple days… and sits in the fruit bowl… and sits in the fruit bowl… and as I rush through the kitchen one day, I glance at the fruit bowl, and oh my! There is the apple. But it is too late to save its fruity little life.

And so we have become connoisseurs of Campbell's soup. And hooray for Ramen noodles. And Hamburger Helper. And canned fruit.

I broke out the cracked wheat the other night for a new food experience, but Sharon wasn't so fond of it. So inevitably, when there is just "nothing to eat" and we're not in a Campbell's soup mood, we have to go grocery shopping. Everything about grocery shopping depresses me. Cooking itself isn't so bad, but if you have to cook something, it means you have to have the ingredients. And in order to have the right ingredients, you have to do a bit of planning before you actually go shopping. And planning for groceries isn't my forte in the least. In fact, if I do manage to come up with a list, it is usually left sitting at home on the kitchen cupboard. (I think this must come from years of living five miles from Wal-Mart—it's just too easy to run up town on a whim.)

This last week we finally decided that the time had come when we could no longer put it off, and so bundled ourselves up and off we went to Wal-Mart to do a bit of grocery shopping. And we spent a considerable amount of time in that store, as we usually do. And many aisles and decisions later, we left the store one hundred dollars and thirty-two cents poorer.

We realized as we were leaving that except for some sandwich supplies, we STILL didn't have anything of substance to eat!

But we did have plenty of things to drink, we saw, and straws through which to drink it (I love straws). And thankfully, we will be able to continue washing our hair regularly, shaving our legs, washing our clothes, washing our dishes, and giving treats to Cleo. And I did stock up on salt and pepper and corn starch. That's something, isn't it?

But I guess it looks like we will be "grocery shopping" again tomorrow unless we want eggs for the third time this week.

Baggage Breakdown

Yay! We've bought our tickets! Plans are to head to Europe for three weeks in May, leaving the day after my graduation. The "we" in this case is as follows: Kris, Sharon, Sara (Lord willing and if she gets a job that will let her go), Martin, Jolene, and Louisa. We shall be flying in to Berlin and flying out of Paris three weeks later. The venue we have chosen for this trip is to travel by backpacking. "Backpacking" defined means literally carrying all your traveling gear on your back—no suitcases. You live out of your backpack for three weeks, travel by train, sleep in hostels, eat food from supermarkets (if necessary), wash your clothes in sinks, and dry your clothes on fishing line strung across your dorm room. Well, ok… we are going to find a Laundromat if at all possible, but we aren't necessarily planning on that.

As you can imagine, this type of travel is an art form and requires quite a bit of planning. Not only do you have to plan where to go, but you have to also plan how to get there and how to get there as lightly as possible. Fortunately for us, we have some experience on which to draw. Take, for example, our trip to Washington by train back in 1998. Five of us girls caught the train in Chicago, stopped for several days in Montana, and then ended up in Seattle, Washington. We spent several days in Washington and then flew back home. A marvelous trip indeed had it not been for the scads of luggage we had with us. We had to rent a car in Seattle, and we literally could not fit all our luggage into the trunk. I think we were all horrified at one point or another at the amount of baggage we had brought with us. We had made sure to leave NOTHING behind. It was so much, in fact, that some of the girls could not even carry it as we were rushing through the airport trying to catch our flight. Poor Sharon had to not only carry her own luggage but also some of the luggage of the other girl. The icing on the cake was when Sharon ended up snagging a man during our loping run through the airport—the hangers of her garment bag snagged the hangers of an unidentified man's garment bag. After that horrifying experience with too much luggage (which we fondly referred to as our "8 tons of luggage"), we agreed, NEVER AGAIN.

Next major trip: Europe 2000, one month, by bus. Thank goodness the tour bus limited us to one 28" suitcase and one carry-on bag (and we moaned and groaned at that because we didn't think it was enough room), or we would've sure enough brought the kitchen sink with us. The way it was, we were still WAY overpacked. We had bellhops to deliver our bags to our rooms and to pack them inside the bus every day, and so we really didn't realize the full burden until the days when we were on our own, before and after the trip. I bumped my flight at the end of that trip, spent a night at an English Inn, and had the opportunity to bump again the next day, but because I just couldn't bear the thought of lugging around my big, fat suitcase for another whole day, I declined. I turned down $200 because of that suitcase. Again, I said, NEVER AGAIN.

Then came Berlin 2006. Sharon and I went to Berlin on a two-week study abroad opportunity. And we remembered (yes, we certainly did) the troubles we had had with luggage on each of the aforementioned journeys. We again downsized our suitcases—this time to a 25". We knew we were in trouble when our petite little professor came trotting out from the luggage carousel with a little 18" suitcase. And as she flew around Berlin at record speeds with us in tow (into buses, up and down those metro station stairs, onto trains, across roads, and up three flights of stairs to our hostel room), we knew that despite our efforts to downsize, we again had TOO MUCH BAGGAGE. We went to Dresden for a three day trip, and so Sharon and I made it our mission to find SOMEWHERE—anywhere, please God—to park our big suitcases for the duration. Thank goodness for those lockers at the train station. It was worth every penny to be free from big luggage. We packed what we needed for three days into a little duffel bag, and GLADLY paid the fee for luggage storage. But poor George. On this trip, he had made the blunder we had made on our Europe 2000 trip. He had a big 28" suitcase that he was lugging all over the place. Wherever he went, it was like having to find space for himself and another whole person. Yes, it was that big.

But this time, with our luggage on our backs, there is simply no room for error. None. Whatsoever. We have purchased a kitchen scale, and everything being taken is being weighed and then entered into an Excel spreadsheet for a grand total. Twenty pounds is my goal, but I am afraid it will be more like 25. But no more!! Everything is being scrutinized times two for fear that I shall have a baggage breakdown.

 

Contact us? Yeah, right!

One thing that really annoys me are these websites that give you a "contact us" form to fill in instead of their email address. You fill it in and ask whatever question it is you happen to have—and never hear from them. I like to think that I am a valuable customer… and they lose me in whatever void it is to which these forms send my information.

For example, when I was trying to organize SEMMA's large annual meeting last fall, I spent quite a bit of time filling out this form online that would allow their hotel conference center prepare an estimate for me—they would be back in touch with me shortly, the automatic response told me. I never heard even a peep from them.

Just yesterday, I contacted a company regarding a product that I could no longer find listed online. It was not a difficult question: do you or do you not carry this product anymore? A nice automatic email came popping into my inbox telling me that customer service will be in contact with me shortly. Nada-nilch—nothing!

I recently sent an inquiry to a hostel regarding their accommodations. This one even gave me a real email address instead of just a form. Again, no response!!

Quite frankly, I am tired of it. If they are not serious about being contacted, then they shouldn't give me that option in the first place. What happened to customer service?