Jan 3 2010
Martin and I just watched some tv show about the North Pole. And I feel like we’re living there.
Or, in North Dakota or Minnesota or some other god-forsaken place.
It’s a whopping 16 degrees plus 35-mile an hour winds and there’s a frigid draft cutting through the family room, rattling the window panes in their sashes. We may be indoors but we’re the feeling the weather.
Cranking up our expatriate thermostat — which only measures Celsius — does little to combat the chill seeping through the house’s pores. But our oil-fed radiators are not utter failures. Nudge the thermostat to the low 20s and it’s like beach week upstairs.
So, I just need to muster the courage to abandon my blanket shelter on the couch and dash around the room to off the lights. Then I can bolt up the stairs, two at a time, to where summer awaits.