Brisk

So the stars worked (or, alternatively, it just got to be far enough into December that snow was inevitable, take your pick).  It got cold outside.  And then, because we don’t believe in any of that new-fangled nonsense like windows that haven’t lasted through two world wars or insulation composed of something other than 90-year-old wadded up newspaper, it got cold inside.  How cold you ask?  Well, that’s the inside of the storm window right there, and that’s also some lovely, icy frost.  The kind that makes a hugely satisfying skritching sound when you scrape it with your fingernail.

 

We’re calling it ‘bracing’ and talking about how much we like snuggling up in our woolens.  When that fails, we’re discussing how much character we’re building.

It’s not until we start getting frost like that on the inside of the interior windows too that I give in to fits of epic whinging.  I’m thinking next week or so.  Until then, pass me some socks, goodness don’t those feel nice.