Heat, beautiful heat. While I'm fond of existing as an anachronism, I don't care to take it quite as far as the era when the house was built--i.e., the era of nebulous heat.
When this joint first opened its doors to Blue Book society in 1883, it did actually have central heat. Having studied the arrangement, I very much doubt that anybody was ever warm. The house had one of those big "octopus" furnaces seen now only in '30s cartoons. It was a primitive hot-air system that relied on the principles of physics--in which I only marginally believe--to get the air heated by the furnace up to the three stories of rooms above. Even a modern forced-air system has several heating vents in every small, eight-foot-ceiling'd room. This house has twelve-foot ceilings and one tiny register for each sizable room. No wonder people wore acres of clothes. Thankfully, by about 1915 somebody realized that this wasn't working. I accredit the discovery to the changing fashion in ladies' evening gowns, which went amorphous and filmy in about 1913. When Frau Hoffmann discovered that her legs were turning blue, Herr Hoffmann promptly installed a radiator system and, when I remember to buy oil, it keeps me toasty to this day.
Today, my department head, who is a nice German/Polish Baltimore girl, reminisced about the featherbeds that her family used over in East Baltimore, many of which had probably been made over in Gdynia or Ostpreussen. They are, of course, much nicer and much warmer than American-made featherbeds. They'd have to be. East Prussia and Poland still believe that a giant ceramic stove in the corner is a perfectly adequate form of central heat. It is, as long as you're within six feet of the thing.
I do hate cold. I am just Southern enough to believe that cold is the work of Yankees and/or Satan, who are obviously allies anyway. Still, isn't it grand to be underneath a featherbed (American, Polish or otherwise), looking through a frosted window and wondering if school will be out for the day? I think that defines "exhilirating."
When this joint first opened its doors to Blue Book society in 1883, it did actually have central heat. Having studied the arrangement, I very much doubt that anybody was ever warm. The house had one of those big "octopus" furnaces seen now only in '30s cartoons. It was a primitive hot-air system that relied on the principles of physics--in which I only marginally believe--to get the air heated by the furnace up to the three stories of rooms above. Even a modern forced-air system has several heating vents in every small, eight-foot-ceiling'd room. This house has twelve-foot ceilings and one tiny register for each sizable room. No wonder people wore acres of clothes. Thankfully, by about 1915 somebody realized that this wasn't working. I accredit the discovery to the changing fashion in ladies' evening gowns, which went amorphous and filmy in about 1913. When Frau Hoffmann discovered that her legs were turning blue, Herr Hoffmann promptly installed a radiator system and, when I remember to buy oil, it keeps me toasty to this day.
Today, my department head, who is a nice German/Polish Baltimore girl, reminisced about the featherbeds that her family used over in East Baltimore, many of which had probably been made over in Gdynia or Ostpreussen. They are, of course, much nicer and much warmer than American-made featherbeds. They'd have to be. East Prussia and Poland still believe that a giant ceramic stove in the corner is a perfectly adequate form of central heat. It is, as long as you're within six feet of the thing.
I do hate cold. I am just Southern enough to believe that cold is the work of Yankees and/or Satan, who are obviously allies anyway. Still, isn't it grand to be underneath a featherbed (American, Polish or otherwise), looking through a frosted window and wondering if school will be out for the day? I think that defines "exhilirating."
posted by Daniel | 2:07 AM
1 Comments:
It's actually been cold down here... it was 44 this morning.
*shiver*
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