It occurs to me that I can’t type fast enough to keep my fingers warm. It’s 63 degrees in here, too cold for being this close to the back edge of summer, so maybe I’ll light a fire in the wood stove. Part of my winter survival plan, the boy and I hunkered down around the stove, bundled in sweaters against the cold. I owe the oil company a thousand bucks, and until I pay, I suspect my oil has been cut off. There are worse things.
Have you heard about the Swedes, taking a vow for the entire country to lose their dependence on fossil fuels by the year 2020? I’m part Swede. Maybe I should write Sweden a letter and let them know I’m doing my part. Forced independence, sure, but soon enough, everyone will be climbing on that oil-less bandwagon.
For lunch, a giant baked potato, grown locally, although I have my doubts. So big it has Idaho written all over it.