2: quasi-historic heater triumph

A monumental evening: for the first time since I moved in to this house a full half year ago I managed to turn on the heater myself. Usually I depend on my roommate to light it, and when she goes out of town, as she has this week, I just pile on double layers of socks, gloves, and jackets. But tonight I took my life into my hands and leaned into the pit in the living room with a blazing torch of slender bamboo and — miracle of miracles! — it caught! And I did not gas myself! At this moment I am hunched over the grate, admiring the distant flame, basking in the warmth, feeling about 2.5% more like a functioning adultlike person than I did two hours ago.

Today’s Virginia is from V. 5 of the diaries, June 22 1937:

“I wd. like to write a dream story about the top of a mountain. Now why? About lying in the snow; about rings of colour; silence … & the solitude. I cant though. But shant I, one of these days, indulge myself in some short releases into the world? Short now for ever. No more long grinds: only sudden intensities. If I cd. think out another adventure.”

I know she’s talking about writing and not life, but damn. She’s better than the Bible for divination, or rather for moment-clarification.


~ by Not Alice on March 2, 2008.

2 Responses to “2: quasi-historic heater triumph”

  1. Sometimes it’s the little triumphs that are the most satisfying…

  2. Yes, I agree. But figuring out how to get heat in the house is no mean feat! It’s been pretty warm lately, to the point where it was actually extravagant to put it on, but I’ve had nights where I thought I was going to fall into hypothermia and die a frozen corpse before the sun rose again. I’ve slept with scarves and jackets on, getting up every hour or so to make mugs of hot tea and warm my fingers over the gas stove. Madness! So the heater thing is huuuuge actually.

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