Yesterday morning at five thirty when I took Gabriel out for his first walk, the snow was squeaky under my boots. Cold. Pretty cold for us close to Long Island Sound here on the southern edge of Connecticut. Below ten is cold for us these days. Used to be that it got a LOT colder -- not these days. No more driving across Holly Pond as the 'old timers' used to tell us. Just squeaky cold.
It is cool in the house. The thermostat is set at sixty-six and this is a constant source of contention. Mind you that in the summer seventy six is a source of contention. I believe in adding and discarding layers of clothing as the temperature requires. Bill believes in creature comfort on his own terms. I have been elected to do the finances; I win the thermostat battle.
This is still the middle of January and people are complaining. Grumble, grumble, grumble. The same people complain about the heat and humidity of summer. Grumble, grumble, grumble. The day is to be enjoyed. We can grumble or we can accept what is. I choose, mostly, to enjoy what is. Not always. Mostly.
