The Long Winter

At the end of a very long, hard, blizzardy winter, the people of DeSmet were much relieved to feel the warm winds of the Chinook. They rejoiced over the melting snow and the arrival of spring. But it took another whole month before the railroad tracks were cleared of snow, such that the trains could finally make it through with supplies. They knew the end of the problem had arrived. They knew winter had been defeated. And yet, their rescue had not come to fruition.

(Come to think of it, this is not unlike Christ's death winning the victory, while we continue on in this valley of sorrow until the rescue comes to fruition in our own deaths or the end of the world.)

Church's fund-raiser yesterday brought in enough money to pay the fuel bill from last winter. So we can ask our propane-supplier to bring us a tankful. This means we'll have a stove. This means our hot water heater will work. This means we can bathe and do laundry without boiling water on the stove at church. This means that when the next cold snap comes, we'll have a furance that works. This is good news.

However, we're still waiting to know when this will happen. The money is there. But will the company bring us fuel just because we say "the check is in the mail" (even though it really would be)? Will we need to drive the check to them (a two-hour round-trip)? Will they send out a truck to fill our propane tank, with the promise that we'll give the check to the driver? Even though the money is there and we can buy propane now, it will be late Monday at the earliest, or even as late as Friday (hopefully no later!), before we actually experience the joys of turning on the hot water faucet again.

And I'm really really looking forward to the ease of cooking in one kitchen instead of shuttling between two. Besides that, the church kitchen is currently unusuable due to flies. I'm not a neat freak. I do naughty things: I eat food off the floor. Yesterday my friend Kathy rolled her eyes when she caught me grabbing a dirty glass out of her sink instead of getting a clean one out of the cupboard. The day before, Kathy rolled her eyes as she caught me eating olives off kids' plates after they'd finished their pizza. But even I get the heebie-jeebies, thinking about cooking in a kitchen so disgustingly filled with flies. (I am going to HAVE to go get bug-bombs for church soon.)