Coonridge Digest: Oil and water, fire and ice

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

Oil and water. Fire and ice. Sometimes I truly think the Almighty put Herb and I together as some sort of divine joke. Often as not our disagreements are just a mild source of irritation but when the summer heat blasts away at Coonridge, there’s little "divine" about our peculiarities.

In short, Herb’s as cold-blooded as a garter snake and I can sweat at the drop of a forecast. Herb’s been known to get chills while watchin’ ice cream commercials. The spindly little whippet don’t hardly have the flesh to cover his remainin’ bones and the mere mention of cold weather will commence his shakin’.

"Good night nurse! Look at this power bill, Freida!" "I did. Just write the check, Herb. It’s all that’s keepin’ me alive this summer."

"Freida, I wake up in the mornin’ and there’s ice crusted on my denture cup. I swear you keep this house like an ice box!" "That’s my intention. Herb, the power bill is the best money I spend.

I’ll go without food before I try to sleep in an oven." "But look at this bill! Good grief! We’ll have to mortgage the cat!" "We don’t have a cat."

"Great. Now we’ll have to buy one!"

"Herb, I’ll read by candlelight, I’ll go back to usin’ the clothes line, I’ll eat cold cuts all summer and I’ll even let you eat breakfast in your overcoat but you are not touchin’ that thermostat!" "I can’t touch it. I’d get frostbite." "Then go outside! Herb, for two bits I’d pitch you your own tent in the backyard and you can swelter ‘til the cows come home. Why hang around the house all day when you think it’s too cold?" "Now wouldn’t that be just dandy, havin’ to pay the bills for a house I don’t use?"

"You are beyond understandin’, you know that? I never hear you holler when I turn on the furnace. I gotta sleep with the window open durin’ snowstorms just to keep the blood from bustin’ your pipes in the winter."

I have been considerin’ rentin’ him out to the carnival circuit (too old and slow), sendin’ him south for the summer (doesn’t travel worth a toot), or sendin’ him to live with my cousin in Indiana whom none of us can stand (I don’t want to pay for a funeral.) I was pleadin’ my litany of woes to the gals down at the Ladies Auxiliary Guild last night when it became obvious that Herb and me weren’t the only temperature mis-matches in town. In fact, nearly half the ladies there had similar complaints. That’s when I came upon a plan: Dog Days Mate-Swapping. We’ll make ourselves a list of who can tolerate what heat levels and once the hound-scorchin’ days of summer hit us, we’ll just swap around a bit.

Now before you think you’ve turned to the Ann Landers column by mistake, let me explain that we’re all good Methodists and beyond that we’re too old to cause much harm. Shoot, to my mind it’s the obvious solution. If you and your old man can’t agree on where to set the thermostat, just swap him for a week for somebody with hotter blood.

Although "hot blood" may be the motivatin’ force behind lots of mate-swappin’ in California, in Coonridge it’s just a matter of Fahrenheit, not foolin’ around.

I took this plan home to Herb as a sort of joke and to my utter consternation, the man thought it was a tolerable good idea. The nerve!

Fact is, he started makin’ his own list of who he’d like to co-habit with. Then came the questions…"Can she cook?" and "Do I get to pick my own TV shows?" and finally, "Freida, if this works out real good, could we sort of extend the contract….?."

"Herb Crump, you are disgustin’!"

"It was your idea, Freida."

"A joke! It was a stupid joke! How dare you actually…" "Then you should of said so. Here you get me all worked up about enjoyin’ Margie Bartlow’s summer casseroles then you…" "Margie Bartlow! Herb that woman don’t have sense enough to pour spit out of a boot!"

"I don’t need my boots emptied, Freida. I just like the way she cooks. And then there’s Lois Effaw’s pies and Ginny Crawford’s watermelon basket and…"

I gave the thermostat a good yank and the air conditioner lurched into Artic gear. I hope his dentures freeze.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy the trip.