Mallory's Camera

I'm lucky to have a sense of humor and an obsessive creative project that functions as a background process. Otherwise, life would seem pret-ty grim and absolutely meaningless just about now.

At least, it's warmer! Temps have been above freezing for the past few days and are forecast to be in the 40°s all next week.

On Monday, when it was -4° overnight, I woke up to a freezing cold house because Icky, once again, had neglected to order heating oil, and the furnace had run out of fuel.



Yes, again.

Icky, in NYC, was not answering his phone, so I called the Ulster County Sheriff's Dept to come and do a welfare check—hey! A 73-year-old woman, alone in a 36° house during sub‑zero weather??? Not safe!!!

I mean, I had a space heater, struggling to keep the ambient temps in ny bedroom in the 50°s, so with a coat and a hat, I wasn't gonna expire imminently of hypothermia, but c'mon.

The Ulster County Sheriff's Dept dispatched two officers who were very nice but could do nothing.

"You could try seeing if an oil company will do an emergency one-time delivery," one of the officers suggested.

"And call social services," suggested the other.

I sighed and said, "I didn't think you would be able to do anything. I just wanted this on record in case I die of hypothermia and you need to find the perp to accuse of negligent homicide."

"I will personally pull the electric chair switch on that one," said the first officer. "What a prick your landlord is. The rent market around here is horrifying."

I was due to go into Schlock, but of course, going into Schlock would have meant turning off the space heater because you cannot leave a space heater untended; the risk of house fires is just too great. And turning off the space heater would have meant returning to a bedroom that was 37°.

So, instead, I spent the morning calling around to 10 different heating oil companies and every Ulster County social services department that seemed vaguely relevant to my needs. Interspersed with calls & texts to Icky.

The heating oil companies were downright hostile. Heating oil deliveries? Get on line, be-yatch! And put down a $1,000 deposit! The Ulster County social services departments were bored, dismissive, & condescending. They too wanted me to get on line.

Finally, Icky called back. Wonder of wonders! He was even vaguely apologetic. And arranged a delivery with his regular provider. By mid-afternoon, the house was back up to a chilly but habitable 60°—which is where I keep the thermostat because heating oil is expensive but sweaters and sweatshirts are cheap.

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The experience took its toll emotionally.

'Cause this is the third time it's happened, and fool me twice... So, I felt like a moron: I should have moved, right? Except if I had moved, I would not have had access to the Schlock revenue stream, which is coming in useful.

But more, I felt brutalized because I was old, scared, and met with a tone that said, You’re just one more annoyance. I grokked the bureaucratic flatness was more about their overload than my worth or legitimacy. Still. I felt very marginalized & hopeless & as if I was of no importance to anyone.

Didn't help that I had to trudge out 100 yards through the snow twice to bring the chickens water. Icky still hasn't dealt with that. No, the chickens are not my responsibility, but I'm not gonna have innocent animals suffering on my watch.

Crumwold Hall on fire in Hyde Park.

Crumwold Hall was built by Archibald Rogers, a minor railroad tycoon, in 1886, making it one of the few local Gilded Age mansions without a Livingston family connection. It's named for Crum Elbow Creek, which flows into the Hudson hereabouts.

The Duke and Duchess of Windsor considered moving there once. FDR's mansion is right next door; he played there as a boy, and the soldiers assigned to protect him on his trips home during WWII were garrisoned there.

New York was not interested in adding Crumwold Hall to the state's portfolio of historic landmarks, so once the original doyenne croaked, the mansion passed from hand to hand, eventually ending up in the possession of an obscure religious cult called the Millennial Kingdom Family Church.

Belinda's house is part of the subdevelopment that was built on the original 5,000-acre estate, so I've often viewed the mansion from afar.

Here's what the mansion looked like in its prime:



Practically nothing is known about the Millennial Kingdom Family Church. They have a Facebook Page, but it hasn't been updated since 2015. Belinda thinks there couldn't have been more than 12 people living in the 75-room house. Their water had recently been turned off since they stopped paying their bill a year ago, which made the firefighters' job all the more difficult.

Anyway, I am thinking: Perfect! Grazia will join the Millennial Kingdom Family Church! And Neal will rescue her after the building catches on fire!

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Shortly, I must gird up and hike out to check in on the chickens. Their coop is about 500 feet from the house. Icky rigged up a network of extension cords to power their fountain, but that grid has failed, and the water in their fountain is frozen solid, so I have been trekking in every day with bowls of fresh water, hoping this will keep them from dying of thirst.

I tested the outlets with my phone charger: The extension cord relay is charging at its source in the basement, but not at its destination at the coop.

The culprit is likely a dead extension cord segment, currently buried under eight inches of snow.

Fond though I am of the chickens, the prospect of spending half an hour narrowing down the dead extension cord does not attract: It is 20° out there with a "real feel" of 8° 'cause there's wind raising mini-snow squalls.

Maybe when the temps rise back to seasonal (supposedly Tuesday).

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Frigid temperatures also kept me from my New Year's Day plan: a vigorous tromp across the Walkway!

I have this superstition that the way you spend New Year's Day is a template for how you are going to spend the year, so naturally, I wanted to fill my New Year's Day with as many wholesome activities as possible!

But an hour and a half in the cold?? With Hideous White Stuff all around me?

No, thank you!

I did remain happy & occupied all day long, reading, delighting, communicating with friends. So, perhaps that will be the auger. Had a marathon phone conversation with my pal Tom in Michigan that was quite entertaining.

Didn't do a single scrap of useful work, though. And didn't exercise.

Those would be unfortunate augers.

Off to the gym as soon as I deal with the chickens.