On Turning On the Heat

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!


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