When I was a kid, we heated the house with a wood stove. This meant that we spent a lot of time dealing with wood: stacking it, moving the piles, carting in armfuls of logs, collecting kindling in the yard. When we complained that we were cold, our dad told us to put a hat on…in the house. I used to daydream about COAL–hard shiny pillows of black gold that equaled immediate heat in my eleven-year old mind. As God as my witness, I swore that I would never be cold when I grew up.
But I didn’t think about how expensive heat is. Or how early childhood patterns are hard to break. So now that I’m in my own house, I find myself holding out on turning up the heat. Who needs heat? I’m a true Northcountry girl. I just need to find my winter woolens.
Hell, it’s not even November yet!