As it turned out, the rest of the sibs being prodded by restless teens, they all left to go back to Grandma's. No prob, all the more room in the hot tub, eh? I waited until Mr. Ether had removed the lid of the tub, and clad only in my swimsuit and mukluks, made a dash across the frigid deck (temperature around 20˚F today) for the steaming hot tub. Not forgetting to remove my mukluks, I jumped in and -- "Oh. It's not very warm is it?" Mr. Ether checks the thermometer. "98˚. Body temperature." Five minutes later, "97˚." Crap. "Bill, your hot tub isn't very warm!"
My brother-in-law Bill, wonderful guy that he is -- fantastic artist, talented musician, best uncle in the world according to my children -- is not particularly handy. He comes out, mumbling about it working yesterday and knowing there was a "reset heater" button somewhere, but he couldn't remember where. Back he goes into the house to search for the owner's manual.
"96˚," says Mr. Ether. We're not quite ready to believe that we aren't going to have our wonderful hot tub experience. I wonder if it's possible for my nose to get frostbite while the rest of my body is submerged in warm water. "Hey," I say to Mr. Ether. "Let's reenact that scene from the end of The Titanic (which I've never seen, but never mind that) where everyone is floating, dead in the frigid sea." We barely have time to assume our poses before Bill is back again. He's put on some slippers and a sweater. He doesn't notice us as he's poking around. Darn.
We finally give up the hot tub ghost and head into the house to get into dry clothes and warm up. Then Mr. Ether -- who on top of everything else that is wonderful about him is also handy -- goes back out to the tub and finds the proper combination of buttons to push and contacts to connect, comes back in and says, "It's working!"
By this time there is a dog to walk and feed waiting at home, so we cheerfully head out into the night. Maybe we'll get to hot tub another time.
