Living Without The Light —

It is very, very cold.  This morning, we left the car out of the garage for five minutes  and the windscreen was covered with ice.  The fields were white with frost.  It was 10:00 AM.  We went our separate ways in Guildford to Christmas shop where, like me, everyone was bundled from tip to toe.  Gloves, scarves, hats or caps  left only  rosy cheeks and drippy noses  exposed.  I didn’t mind the cold.    It is Christmas time, after all.  We met at a restaurant called Zinfandel tucked away in a narrow, medieval looking steet.   Take note, fellow Californians.  It is indeed "California cuisine" , in that it is light fare made with unusual combinations of ingredients.  An office Christmas luncheon was gathering toward the back.  A couple with twin infants in a double pram sat across from us.  One of the babies was dressed in pink, the other in blue, and they looked like picture book babies, perfect little noses in perfect little heads, and tiny fingers curled in sleep.  We enjoy the ambience, our glass of wine, and our lunch, then head for home.

I turned on the under floor heating in our newly created bathroom this morning, before we left,  for the first time.  We had to wait two weeks to try it, so the tiles would be thoroughly dry.  I was looking forward to feeling the warm tiles under my feet when I took a shower this evening.  We arrived home and checked our phone messages.  Not only were there none, there was no service.  The phones are new, so it was baffling that they would not be working.  Then I tried to turn on the bedroom light.  No dice.  No lights, anywhere.  No heat, anywhere.  No fuses tripped, no other houses without electricity. 

We call the bathroom contractor.  Everything was working this morning.  I just turned on the under floor heating.  But nothing blew.  I take Tasha for her abbreviated walk.  There is ice on puddles, lawns are white with frost.  Our breath comes in steamy puffs.  Even Tasha hurries.  I don’t think she likes the cold much, either.  I wonder if her feet are cold.  Bernard has called the electrician and British Gas, which is responsible for the electrics, too.  A man will come within 3 hours. 

I arrive home to candles burning, and Bernard busily lighting  a fire in the chimney of the sitting room, and trying to light the Norwegian Morso stove as well.  Nothing burns.  We try another kindling, and manage to get one fire going, and finally the kitchen stove lights.  We are still waiting for the electrician, and though I love the candle light, I also love warmth.  Hope he arrives soon. 



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