Goodness, that feels nice.

Just took my first real soaky shower in almost six months.

We installed a genuine towny shower in the barn apartment last summer, and all summer and autumn it was pure decadent pleasure. But the barn isn't heated when nobody's staying there, and we had our first pipe burst before snow even fell. So with death in my (and W's) heart I turned off the pressure and emptied the pipes.

During my Winter Of Solitude I had to strictly ration propane use; basically if water wasn't freezing in the sink, and it did sometimes, it was warm enough in the lair. Put on another sweater and quit your bitching. You get used to it. But what you don't do except on very special occasions is take off your clothes and get wet. I wasn't entirely joking when I told a friend at the end of that period, "I don't worry about smell. I worry about rashes." It's a wonder anyone would come near me, and I noted they did tend to stay upwind.

This past winter wasn't nearly that bad, because I had access to transport and could move propane bottles any time I wanted. So I was much more profligate with the heat, and much more willing to get nekkid and take a sponge bath. But still, there were times when I looked at that lonely shower in the barn and gave a sad little sigh.

The freeze danger isn't completely over, but screw it: we've got to fire it up soon anyway because the whole gang will be here at the end of the month for a houseraising party and besides W and I are both heartily sick of being without the washing machine and that oh-so-luxurious shower.