Our complex of four units is heated with natural gas, which is also the fuel used for cooking. The gas is pumped into tanks on the roof. This means that to deliver gas to my neighbors, the delivery man must put climb with a hose up the ladder to the roof over the second story apartment.
Gas is sold by the liter. And like much in Mexico, one pays when one is served.
I ran out of gas the morning I departed for San Francisco and asked the landlord if he’d call for a delivery while I was gone so that I would have hot water when I returned from my trip.
My neighbor ran out of gas Friday night the 21st of December, the coldest night of the season thus far. His delivery came mid-day Saturday.
My normal morning routine is to start water for tea, start the computer, make the tea, check email, review and edit my blog’s post (I always seem to find something that I didn’t catch in what I thought was the final proofreading), heat milk for hot chocolate, return to the computer, listen for the rattle of the pot’s cover signaling that the milk is hot, finish the hot chocolate, then write some more. Writing inevitably means reading as research, and there are many days when I do not get out of my pajamas until mid-afternoon. There is no way I could carry such a demanding schedule without the convenience of delivered LNG.
Ode to Joy in Sabadell, Spain via Helen Boyd
Helen Boyd’s blog en|gender is one of my regular reads. A teacher, author, commentator on social issues, she writes passionately and her content is thought-provoking. She occasionally has a surprise, such as the following reblog. Her comment was that “This one made me cry like an idiot.” Me, too. Thank you for this flashmob performing the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.