Decided to stay here in LeBec for the night.
Last year about this time, Tennessee Ken acquired a new Mr. Heater. His old Mr. Heater, a boon companion and profoundly important appliance, had served him well. Ken always showed him the respect he deserved, never calling him just heater, always addressing him as Mister Heater. That was the brand name, of course, but it was funny the way Ken made it sound like a gesture of respect. Well, it was a gesture of respect, and affection too, I think. Ken did love his heater on those cold nights, whether they were in Tennessee or in Slab City. Then events conspired to put him in possession of a larger, newer model. There is an interesting story behind that, involving drama, danger, and some comedy (in retrospect). It seems that when you don’t scew the propane bottle in properly, a leak can form around the fitting. Then when you light Mr. Heater, propane coming out around the neck of the bottle forms an interesting flame effect in the form of liquid fire dripping down the plastic housing.
Last year about this time, Tennessee Ken acquired a new Mr. Heater. His old Mr. Heater, a boon companion and profoundly important appliance, had served him well. Ken always showed him the respect he deserved, never calling him just heater, always addressing him as Mister Heater. That was the brand name, of course, but it was funny the way Ken made it sound like a gesture of respect. Well, it was a gesture of respect, and affection too, I think. Ken did love his heater on those cold nights, whether they were in Tennessee or in Slab City. Then events conspired to put him in possession of a larger, newer model. There is an interesting story behind that, involving drama, danger, and some comedy (in retrospect). It seems that when you don’t scew the propane bottle in properly, a leak can form around the fitting. Then when you light Mr. Heater, propane coming out around the neck of the bottle forms an interesting flame effect in the form of liquid fire dripping down the plastic housing.
The person to whom this happened kept a cool head, applied a fire extinguisher, and then promptly evicted it and refused to ever have it in her house (motorhome) again. This was a tad unfair, given that Mr. Heater himself was the unwitting victim of an improperly attached propane cylinder. But never mind, this meant that Ken inherited a new heater to replace his well travelled one.
When Ken saw my own heater, an adorable little red GloMaster that runs on butane, he burst out laughing. The entire time we were together last year, he made many jokes at my and my poor little heater’s expense. It’s true that the GloMaster was only suitable for heating a mouse hole (“would take the chill off an 85-degree day,” as Ken repeatedly reminded me), but it looked so good! That shiny red paint and boxy, milk-house heater styling made me love it. But in the end, I was forced to admit that Ken was right and the damn thing was next to useless. Probably it would have helped warm a tent, but I was always terrified to light it in a tent, and last year I was camping in a friend’s unconverted cargo van, which was impossible to heat with the GloMaster.
And so, after Ken had tested the new heater that he had acquired due to that little mishap of his fellow campers and found it perfectly sound, he told me he wanted me to have his old one.
Mr. Heater had a hard life. His plastic body partly melted when a similar incident happened to Ken wherein he failed to properly attach a cylinder and the thing caught on fire. Its grill was a little askew from the subsequent face down landing it received when he pitched it, still on fire, out the door of his van. It was stained and disreputable looking, but it somehow seemed right for Ken, a stained and disreputable character himself, yet impossibly lovable for all that. And it still worked! Mr. Heater still worked like a champ.
Ken left the planet and everybody who loved him before I could test out my present. But I managed to spirit it away before the county coroner’s office carted off most of the rest of his meager possessions. It’s here with me now. Running and warming up the inside of KD. The blast of warmth taking the chill off not an 85-degree day in a mouse hole, but a chilly Christmas night high up in the Grapevine where I am spending Christmas alone in KD, makes me remember the warmth of Ken’s personality, his great, shining spirit, the way his laugh was like the sun coming out.
I was almost ready to turn off Mr. Heater and climb under the sleeping bag when I remembered it was still Christmas and I hadn’t opened my presents yet. Among them is a groovy new screw driver set which will be helpful in working on KD and might stop me from constantly borrowing my Dad’s set (I’m pretty sure the screwdriver set was from Dad, even though my gifts were given from both Mom and Dad). Also an entire box of See’s rum nougat, my absolute favorite See’s candy, which there are never enough of in the nuts and chews boxes that are always circulating at this time of year. And a very wonderful gift for Goose, which she will receive with enthusiasm, and which I am deeply grateful for because when Goose isn’t fed, we don’t get very far.
This Christmas seemed like it was shaping up to be a bit of a dud, since I’m starting out late and totally missing Christmas at Slab City, and my Campin’ Fun Buddies won’t be following for days yet. I didn’t want to be on the road on Christmas, eating Taco Bell for Christmas dinner and spending the evening at a truck stop. But. It’s ok. It’s still Christmas. I’m still loved. I’m on another adventure, and my riches are many.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
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