Baby it's cold out there...actually, it's absolutely arctic in here! Darn it, I couldn't put off the task any longer - I've had to light the fire in the lounge room because the temperature in the house has turned frosty.
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After water-skiing in the heat at the lake over Easter, all of a sudden, the autumn nights have arrived and settled in for a lengthy stay.
We've been surviving under piles of throw rugs, peeking out at the telly, but the cold has even started seeping through our blankies, so the time was right to strike a match and turn my pile of decorative Christmas pinecones into kindling - as planned.
And so, it starts, my slavery to the sweet smell of warmth, the fragrance of flames and the colour orange...and brown, as I make a wheelbarrow trip to the woodpile almost every day and deal in dust with very little dignity.
No one ever said being Cinderella was easy, even if I do intend on living happily ever after.
Prince Charming and I only did a couple of wood collection outings with the tandem trailer last year, so our stockpile is pitifully depleted.
It's all because our 20-year-old moved away from home and our youngest had a part time job on Saturdays - we lost our slave labour, or labourers of love if you prefer.
Luckily, we've got about four trees on our property which are dead but still standing - so I consider them upright woodpiles in waiting.
I did do a little reconnaissance trip around the place today, picking up a load of bits and pieces where we'd lopped off leaning limbs and cut them up to cure.
This led to the discovery of lots of lunching white ants - which is why we have so many dead trees in the first place of course.
I never like bringing those pieces of wood close to the house to linger long as our timber ceiling already leaks in heavy rain, I don't want it to be lunched on by lively insects too - termites turning on us would be too much and they do work like slaves!
So, it's curtains on our view, as we try to inch the temperature gauge up a degree or two, gazing at the fire.