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Show Lifeline 3 doors, rattled pans. Then I lifted the receiver. Hearing voices, I committed the unpardonable sin of listening in on a party-line. Winter roared in on the whine of a norther. The lights failed. Wind gusted through chinkholes, blowing out the candles. We went to bed early. The lower the thermometer, the more clothes I piled on. Decked out in a wool shirt, sweatsox, flannel-lined levis and head scarf - this centerfold for a Laplander's magazine was ready to reti re. Clark was routed out by bellowing threats from the hot water heater. "SHE'S READY TO BLOW! Hurry, kids. Where's Mom?" "I just got my side warmed up," I protested from down under the covers. "Ten seconds to doom. Get up this instant!" Huddled in a tight circle, I felt a twinge of guilt for I was the only one dressed for sub-zero weather. The expected blast fizzled when the excess oil was absorbed, and the heater settled down to hiccupping and burping. The plumbing was the first to go - frozen water pipes. Tiring of my nightly sponge bath, I eyed that double sink. Filling both sides from the teakettle, I climbed in - me in one side, my feet in the other and - water on the floor - - I was Cleopatra minus her handma idens! A paper sack was never out of reach, to breathe into and re-breathe carbon dioxide. In my weakened state, I considered the slightest disappointment as a personal affront. A saleslady snipped off a slip from atiapple-blossom geranium which I admired in a store <• |