The information gathering part of the remodel is continuing. The other day I met with Mr Pyro, from the woodburning stove place. It was oh so delightful and informative and I learned I should be out there felling trees, splitting stumps and stacking logs right now if I want to heat my home with wood in eighteen months. Swell. And yet I sit here and blog about it rather than do it.
On the day in question, the sun was out and this meant that the front room of the Manor was a bit warmer than usual. The room has no curtains and faces south. In other words, the fishbowl was a-warmin' up. I'm sitting in my usual spot at the end of the table, in a sunspot, chatting with Pyro when I catch something out of the corner of my eye. I glance out the front door—which is open—and through the screen door—which is closed—to see Barque strolling up the walk. "Excuse me," I say to Pyro. "One of my cats is outdoors and I don't have outdoor cats."
I scoop up Furdini, trying to determine how she escaped. I think she has figured out the latch mechanism and whacked the door open while I was engrossed in a discussion about chimney height. I'll have to collect more data on this and possibly up my estimation of her IQ score a bit more.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Nothing up my sleeve
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2 comments:
Don't whack your own wood. It can be purchased by the chord over at the Rite Aid on Lincoln. Dudes sell it outta the backs of their trucks. Not kidding.
The only problem with that plan is I don't get the credit for all the calories burned. And I have a problem paying for a labor I can do and even enjoy to a small extent.
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