Tonight I am grateful for warmth.
I spent the evening having dinner and watching the last half of Titanic with Cindy. She lives in a fantastic old, three-story Victorian rowhouse up in the Art Museum area. I have often envied her this house. She and her roommates have lots of space, a kitchen that can hold more than two people at a time and a cozy backyard that has been the venue for many a summer cookout. This house has nooks and funny little corners where the wall doesn’t quite meet the floorboards. I love every aspect of this house, until I spend some time there in January. And then I remember just how cold it can be to live in an old house.
Sitting on the couch in her room, a doubled over king-sized comforter enveloping both of us, we stopped moving in the hopes that we could conserve heat. At one point, during a commercial, I slowly turned my head towards Cindy, so as not to create a breeze, and said, “My nose is so cold I can barely feel it.”
She laughed and responded, “Mine too!”
When the movie was over I jumped up before I could get sucked into the SAG Awards and headed home. Putting my coat on, I dreaded walking out the door, feeling ill-prepared to go someplace that would make me feel even colder. Ten minutes later I pulled into my garage and headed into the building. The warm air of the lobby encircled me, and I was almost grateful that I had felt so cold, because the feeling of heat was so nice.
When I visit my parents in Oregon or spend time with friends who live in houses, I realize how lucky I am that I spend my life in comfortable temperatures. Wall to wall carpet and well-heated building often move me to crack windows, even in on the coldest days. If I need to fine-tune, each room has it’s own HVAC unit under the window. I know I sometimes complain about aspects of life in my building, but I am always grateful for warmth.