Getting wood

I know with that title the picture is probably a let down. But first of all, get your mind out of the gutter. Second of all, this is a family blog. We don't deal in innuendo ("That's the way it is - love goes out the door when money comes innuendo!" - Groucho Marx), or bad language.

Unless of course I happen to be talking about the Traitor-In-Chief, and I say things like fuck Trump, Trump is a festering piece of shit and only one more day of that asshole Trump.

Then I make an exception.

So anyway, what with the weather plummeting at night to an inhuman, unbearable 65 degrees, the wife decided it was time to stop using the termite-free, easily available, brightly burning Duraflame logs we had on hand and start going back to what the original settlers used: wood.

That's why you're looking at a quarter cord of citrus and almond wood. Citrus wood is a softer wood that burns faster and hotter. Almond is a harder wood and burns slower and steadier. At least that's what they tell me. Being a city boy who grew up on the mean streets of West L.A., north of Wilshire, it's all the same to me. Wood is wood.

I know it looks like a lot of wood, and it is. Wood is measured in cords, and a full cord occupies a volume of 128 cubic feet when racked and well stowed. Just like my highschool girlfriend.

That much would last us several winters, so instead we wound up with a quarter cord by splitting a half cord with our neighbors. I'd say do the math, but I just did it for you. You're welcome.

Saturday morning a big old truck—not a saying, it was actually big and it was old—from The Woodshed (apparently the same people who name dog grooming places name firewood providers) double parked in front of our house. Two very nice, strong, hard-working and I'm sure underpaid gentlemen took our share of the wood off the truck, rolled it on a palate to our backyard and then hand carried it behind the garage where they neatly stacked it. We offered them cold Topo Chico, thanked them profusely and gave them both a nice tip.

Because if they didn't do it I would've had to, and honest labor just isn't in my wheelhouise.

Anyway, when night falls now we're all warm and cozy, stoking the fire and listening to the crackle of the logs. It's so nice I hardly even mind the fact we paid $275 for our share.

Because apparently while we can run out of wood, we always have money to burn.