Usually at this time of year, the temperature’s somewhere in the 30’s. If and when it gets too high, the big worry is that the ice sculptures that are part of First Night will survive or end up in a puddle after doing an “I’m melting” disappearing act. Have no fear about melting ice sculptures this year. It is COLD out there. And has been since just after Christmas, the thermometer barely poking it’s nose about the mid-teens. And then there’s that “real feel” temperature thing-y. Avert your eyes! When it’s 7 degrees out, do we really need to be told that the “real feel” is 10 below? I surely don’t.
I like to sleep in a somewhat cool bedroom, but if I lower the thermostat to 62 or 63, it’ll get even colder. And then take all day to warm back up to the mid-sixties.
This is an old building, and there was apparently no such thing as insulation in the 1860’s, when most of this building was erected. Nor was there any such thing as insulation in 1918 when the part of the building I inhabit was tacked on.
They say hot air rises, and I suppose it does, but the heat that rises from the floor where my bedroom, den, and office are, to the floor where my living room and kitchen live, just keeps rising to the tippy top of the living room ceiling, where it lingers (I suppose) at more than twice my height. It does not, of course, help that the heat registers are about a quarter of an inch from that ceiling. It works great during the summer. During the winter, ah, not so great.
Anyway, it was 57 in my kitchen the other morning. Definitely brrrrr territory.
Of course, that was the morning when I woke up, went out into the back hall, and, what to my wondering eyes did appear than the back door, wide open.
This was at 7:30 a.m., and the temperature was 7. (“Real feel” –10.)
I’m guessing that someone thought they had slammed the door shut behind them, but had failed to turn the second lock. So the door blew open.
However it happened, I did post a note that began “It may seem obvious…”
The pipe from the water heater that leads to my downstairs shower runs through the ceiling of that downstairs hall. Which may explain why, when I turned the shower on that morning, the water that came showering out would have given a polar bear pause. I suppose I should just be grateful that the pipe didn’t burst.
So far, while frigid weather is upon us, I have managed to venture out and get my 10,000 Fitbit steps in. Some of those steps have been achieved pacing around the gym, driving everyone trying to work out nuts, and others have been gotten by circling my dining room table, making me dizzy. But I’m managing to make my daily goal, if barely.
I did venture out to do a bit of shopping, looking for some warm tights and a pair of sweatpants. Marshall’s had some nice fleecy Reebok sweats for $19.99. Alas, what I thought was an M turned out to be an XL. One of the St. Francis House guests will be happy!
I had to do another little shopping tour to secure a Yankee Swap gift for a corporate holiday party I’m invited to. Unlike my family, where oddball and awful gifts are welcome, this one tends to be more straightforward, with useful and/or usable gifts. So it was easy enough to find something chocolate on Charles Street.
Later this week, it’s expected to temporarily nudge up to the 20’s. This brief respite will bring some snow with it. Given the temp boost, I say let it snow, let it snow let it snow.
Ah, well.
It’s now 2018.
I’m not bothering with any resolutions this year, since I never manage to keep them. That said, I do intend to lose 10 pounds, unfreeze my frozen shoulder and, oh yeah, complete the novel that’s been noodling around for a while.
Wishing everyone a happy and healthy new year.
And if January could just warm up a bit, that would be great, too.
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