When the weather gets really cold, some of the first phrases that come to my mind are "milk comes frozen home in pail," and "greasy Joan doth keel the pot." Some English Lit. teacher in my long ago past must have caused these particular words to take up (what seems to be permanent) residence in a deep recess of my brain, only to be called to the fore when the temperature drops below a given level.
No doubt about it, it is bitterly cold, but here in central Arkansas it's almost balmy compared to other parts of the nation and the world. Where are my English/Welsh/Scot genes when I need them? They kick in ferociously during the summer when I go into melt-down when it hits 80 degrees, but do they lift a (figurative) finger to assist me when it gets cold? No! I'm wearing enough layers of clothing inside the house to add another 10 pounds to my frame, and I bundle up like Nanook of the North when I venture into the yard to refill the bird feeders.
Despite some precautions (not enough, as it turned out) to keep my water pipes from freezing, I had no hot water in bathroom, kitchen or laundry room until around noon today. Why is it that hot water pipes will freeze before those carrying cold water?
Since I do not relish making my morning (or any other time) ablutions in water just above the freezing point, I shall face the prospect of having a higher water bill by leaving water running at more than just a drip, drip, drip tonight. There are other preventive measures I can take, also, and those will be done. Let's hope it works.
I leave you with these words (they had just as well be stuck in your brain as mine):
"When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tuwhoo! Tuwhit! Tuwhoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tuwhoo! Tuwhit! Tuwhoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot."
---- Love's Labour's Lost, V, ii - Wm. Shakespeare
