An email alerted me of my new electrical bill. Living in an all-electric building, my usage during winter months increases dramatically. The recent cold spell certainly made the difference more apparent. I miss having gas-powered heating and a wood burning fireplace.
I was not home enough to keep the fireplace going at all times. This made the few evenings that I could sit by the fire even more special. My preferred beverage for such occasions would be mulled cider. Since I listen to music all day long, I rather curled up in the blanket with a book.
It’s a gratifying thing watching the logs burning steadily. The dances of the flames—sometimes elegant, sometimes menacing; sometimes slow, sometimes violent—were capricious and ever-changing. Their vibrant colors added warmth to everything in the room. What really warmed my heart were, however, the embers that lingered to the late hours of the night, as they reminded me winters of my early years.
Taiwanese climate does not call for built-in heating systems. Yet, the frequent rains make winters in Taipei gloomy and damp. There was no natural gas supply back in those days. Before electrical heaters were readily available, coal- or charcoal-burners were commonly used. They were the size of a bucket (or smaller), with clay insulation and a small vent on one side.
On cold nights we would stay near the heat, eating hotpot, snacking and, often, listening to radio. Mom liked to put some water in the kettle and leave it on the burner. Sometimes, sweet potatoes would be placed on top. The orange red embers breathed gently, brightening and dimming. My small body felt the warmth, comforted and secured. For protection, a large bamboo frame would be place over the burner, tall enough to be away from the flames.[1] As we got ready for bed, mom would spread some freshly laundered clothing over the net.
Charcoal also made it possible for us to take hot bath. We had a traditional Japanese wooden bathtub, with furnace and chimney on one side and bench seating on the other side. I used to reach as near the heat source as I dared to. Mom would soap and rinse us clean before letting us soak in the tub. She would wrap us in towels when we got out and dry us quickly. Still, the brief moment before we were fully clothed was challenging. We screamed for help—just to protest being put to bed.
Years went by. Electric space heater replaced the charcoal warmer. Modern plumbing and tub replaced the wooden one. I yearn for chances to stay by a fireplace, allowing the dimming embers to walk me down the memory lane.
[1]Out of curiosity, I looked up online. Charcoal warmers and bamboo frames are still available on the market in China. However, my English search did not lead to meaningful results.
