Propane Blues

• The propane tank is built into the motorhome. The options for filling it are: drive the vehicle to a gas station or have the propane delivery guy come to my site. Although the first option sounds easy, the truth is I haven’t maintained “road ready” storage practices and it would take several hours to batten down the interior for the short ride to the corner gas station. The second option is – or should be – the best since no preparation is required other than having cash on hand to pay the driver.
  

• The propane delivery truck wends its way through the Golden Village resort on Tuesdays and Fridays. After my December experience of running out of propane and discovering that the Friday delivery was cancelled for the Boxing Day holiday, I made a Scarlet O’Hara type vow that while I would use the furnace, hot water tank and stove at will, monitor the propane level and never again let it run out again. Well, clearly I’m no Miss Scarlet because last Thursday, too late to arrange a Friday delivery, I noticed the propane monitor light was once again flickering at a quarter of a tank.
  

• Since I was going to be away on Tuesday - the Laughlin trip – I arranged for a Friday delivery. Once again in propane conservation mode I used it only for hot water , plugged in my tiny electric heater (that I dare not leave on overnight) and dined only on microwaveable food (when I wasn’t eating in a restaurant – which it might surprise you to learn - is something I now rarely do.)
  

• Like most other delivered services, the only commitment the propane guy would make is “sometime between 8 and 5”. Accepting my fate of being stuck at home, I whiled away Friday’s hours. Unfortunately the weather took a nosedive around noon with dark clouds rolling in and the now familiar sound of pounding rainfall starting soon thereafter. Patiently, I waited until 5 pm before calling the propane distributor. Delivery was behind schedule due to the bad weather and a promise was made that the truck would arrive on Saturday. I was instantly thankful that Valentine’s Day is not a national holiday.
  

• By noon Saturday I was starting to feel like a grounded teenager, bored with everything and alternating pacing the 9 by 2 foot floor inside my motorhome with pacing the outdoor patio. Thankfully neighbours were outside for chatter and friends began stopping by to report propane truck sightings in the resort. Although I need another hobby like a hole in the head, Donna came over to pass the time teaching me how to crochet.
  

• There must have been a high demand for propane at the resort because another two and a half hours dragged by before the propane truck cruised to a stop, filled the tank, grabbed my cash and rumbled away toward the next customer.

• Last night the temperature once again dropped below freezing and the roar of my furnace was like a lullaby. The hot water for this morning’s face wash luxuriously came from a tap rather than the microwave. Today I’m cooking dinner for my Donna and Tom. I’m sure they will be happy to get something other than the microwaved soup or instant mashed potatoes that have comprised my work-around no-stove meals.