I'm up earlier than usual for a weekend morning, 7 o'clock. Because I went to bed earlier than usual for a Friday night, 9:30. With Emil and Everett away, every day feels like a weekend; there is no routine, really, except for Scott's usual breakfast before he bolts out the door. The moment he gets up, he has to eat. I can't stuff anything down for at least an hour. He sometimes offers to cook for me as well as himself, but I usually decline. Not only because of the hour, but sometimes because of what he is making; I cannot stomach meat and potatoes first thing in the morning, and even if he has eggs, he will put meat and potatoes in with them if it's handy.

By 8:00 he was on his way to town to pick up the gent who will help him install the new furnace over at Golden Grain Farm. I said I'd make something for their dinner and went over to the inlaws' for ground beef, which is in their deep freeze. My little stroll over there is when I took the photo above. Beautiful morning, but cold; 20 below.

Turns out the boys won't have lunch here anyway, as they have to make another trip to town within the hour and will grab a sandwich in a café. I have washed last night's supper dishes and started frying chopped onions, garlic, and meat; will throw something together for the evening meal instead.

Speaking of food, it's almost 10:30 and I haven't eaten yet. Must do that before I forget.

***

Legal title to the property we are buying is now handed over to us, so we can start our renos or, as Scott would put it, start spending money and working our asses off. After the new furnace, there will be insulating to do, some walls coming out to enlarge the kitchen, new flooring, and a bit of painting. He is now talking about doing even more extensive work in the kitchen than we've planned; if I didn't know better, I'd think he is finally getting his teeth into this project. Till recently there was nothing but complaining, but lately he's been tackling it with some vigour. Maybe that's because the jig is up; he has no choice.

He has disconnected the woodstove over there because the insurance premiums when heating with wood are so high it doesn't make the money saved worthwhile. I will miss the wood heat, I say, and would rather pay the extra insurance premiums. I think of the ice storms and power outages that have wreaked so much havoc on the continent over recent years, and would prefer not to rely on the electrical grid in an emergency. But Scott is tired of the work, he says, of getting wood in. He's been doing it for a lot of years (not without help, I might add, though he does all the chainsawing and most of the wood-chopping) and would like a break. And, he tells me, "You won't even notice the woodstove isn't there."

But I will. We'll have to come back over to this house once in a while, make a fire, and lay a bear rug on the floor in front of it. This can be our Love Shack.

Now Playing: gently sizzling frying pan

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