I lurched out of bed when my alarm went off and staggered across the room to shut it off, which was ideal timing for my second alarm to chirp irritatingly a little further away. I flicked the lights on to prevent tripping over the bag I’d purposely left in the way the night before. Now squinting against the artificial light, I made it to the device before it started into another shrill round of sound. I sighed and stood there for a while, sleepiness pulling on my eyelids.
Ugh. So much for a full night’s sleep.
Outside the snow glowed eerily beautiful from the bluing of reflected scarce light. The silhouettes of tall thin black spruce looked very nearly as dark as their chromatic classification. The overcast sky appeared to have a duller blanket of snow suspended high above. The air itself appeared ‘thicker’, as if minuscule particles of moisture had frozen in midair — which very probably was the case if it was as cold as the view hinted.
I lumbered downstairs to check the outdoor thermometer’s reader. Cold snap still confirmed. [See entry for 13 December 2021.]
I was glad I planned to get up so early so that the truck’s oil pan could have sufficient time to thaw before I needed the engine to start. It was almost 4 a.m. When I first began driving in the state’s Interior, a friend’s husband and knowledgable mechanically-minded longtime Alaskan, recommended one hour of plug-in time for every ten degrees below zero degrees Fahrenheit. This advice has never steered me wrong, and I always use this ratio to figure out how long to plug in my truck — and when to tumble out of bed on forecasted cold days. Why had I decided to not plug in last night…?
As a child, I remember adults complaining about the fallibility of The Weatherman. Even now people make comments about how it was ‘supposed to (fill in your choice of weather event here).’ In my experience, however, when The Alaskan Weatherman reports an approximate temperature, the info is generally correct. If one weather channel says Xº and another quotes Yº, both temperatures are always within a few degrees of each other, and temperature fluctuates constantly anyway, and that’s not taking into account from which weather station in the area the temperature report derives. The temperature around my house can be 5-10º lower than the temperature on the nearby highway in any case, and the reported temperatures of Xº and Yº just help me approximate when I need to wake up on cold winter nights.
After pulling on sweatpants, snow pants, shirt, long-sleeved hoodie, sweater, goose down hooded jacket, thick socks, studded winter boots (rated to -40ºF/C), wool neck gator, wool scarf, felted wool hat, and winter gloves (not thick enough for the temperature but thin enough for me to be able to bend my fingers), I draped the new blue extension cord over an arm, grasping the plugs in one hand, and unlocked the door.
The boiler at the back of the house almost immediately kicked on. The inside of the storm door’s glass panel had frosted over. The pneumatic closer of the door groaned as I pushed open the door and stepped outside. I pulled the front door shut behind me, but it popped open. I had to pull and lift the door to make it stay shut. The house shifts recurrently all year long.
The outdoor outlet I was using today is on the far side of the deck from the door, and far from where I park in the driveway. (I wish I had not plugged the broken cord in to the socket I normally used! But, I had.) As a precaution I hooked the headlamp hanging by the door with a finger before stepping through the doorway, and I did need it to guide the prongs into the socket. The shimmering ground did not radiate enough light to see details.
The storm door groaned through the congealed grease in its closer, grudgingly shutting.
The plug on the other end of the long extension cord glowed orange, causing my shoulders to relax just a bit. I like it when things work. I daisy-chained the cord as I shuffled to the other end of the deck, taking up the slack in the 50 feet so there would be less chance of it snagging a toe and tripping me. The cord was already stiffening up in the cold. I left enough of the cable to cross in front of the door and dangle off of the porch deck.
I walked gingerly down the steps, making sure I did not trip on the cord or slip on the frosty steps. I pulled the end section of the cord to the front of the truck and connected it to the short cord extending from under the truck’s front bumper. The plug on the oil pan heater’s cord glowed orange. I sighed and shuffled back up the steps, tripped on the cord yet again <ugh>, and caught hold of the still not-yet-closed storm door. I dragged it shut behind me and locked the main one. Chill drafted through the narrow space near the bolt.
The heating baseboard clicked and the boiler flamed on.
I reset my alarms and sank down on the couch for another two hours of sleep, grateful that Sunday’s adventure had happened on the weekend and not this morning…. I did not fancy the idea of having to consider biking to work today….
As I drifted off to sleep I mused, I will plug in tonight and not worry about the extra electricity use overnight. I like my sleep…zzzz…..