Every morning on Face Book I've been commenting on the frigid temps that have greeted me when I arise. It was from a safely warm abode that I viewed the indoor/outdoor thermometer showing 61 degrees in the kitchen and minus 10 degrees Fahrenheit out on the back porch.

A week long siege of sub-freezing weather never portends well for we temperate designed beings.

When I arrived home yesterday, D. related the fact that she'd had to take a hurray-up shower that morning because of a lack of hot water. She surmised correctly that the fuel oil fired hot water heater was not working. We went down cellar and I showed her where the restart button was located, and after pushing the button the heater fired up and voila, soon we were awash in hot water. Problem solved.

Caveat: if after two attempts at pushing the restart button to no avail, abandon your efforts and call an expert to come and fix the problem.

Shift to 6 AM this morning. As I climbed out of our heated water bed my brain, trying to unmuddle itself, said to me (that infernal inner dialog). Did you notice that you remained under all the covers during the night and at those few times that your arms and shoulders were exposed to the air you quickly pulled the covers up over them? I silently acknowledged the fact, (silent? this is internal dialog; how can it be anything other than silent?) Chalking it up to the fact that the forecaster had foretold of serious sub-zero temps for the night I thought that the room was just a little cooler than usual or perhaps D. had cracked the window open a tad.

The cat, having waited patiently for someone to emerge from the bed, meowing and leading me to the stairway prompted an often repeated thought: "one day you'll trip over this beast when he stops on the unlit stairs to check and see if you're still behind him and they'll find you dead at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck with the cat standing beside you whining for you to get up and fill his food dish. Prodding the lbb with the tip of my slipper to shoo him down the stairs I grip the the banister and as I begin my descent my brain is aware that the rail is cooler than usual; cold actually. Funny how that happens: something you do by rote everyday summons no conscious awareness 'til it's different.

The cobwebs of sleep are gone, replaced by the clearly focused thought; something amiss here, better check the thermostat. First a trip to the commode. Squinting to read the thermostat dial in the dim light from the desk lamp tells me finally that D. had set the dial back to 60 when she retired, but the temperature of the room was under 50. "This is not good!"

"Commmmme OOnnnn" meows the lbb, "I'm starving!" Passing through the kitchen I look at the indoor/outdoor thermometer: inside 50 degrees, outside -5 Fahrenheit. "Guess what rel? The furnace isn't working." "yes" I think, and look over at the wood stove as I get the can of cat food. "Darn, if I can't get the furnace started I'll have to clear all those things off from and away from the woodstove and then get a fire started;" not what I was looking forward to this morning.

LSS, Down the cellar, Whoops; first put food in lbb's dish, stairs, remove door to working guts of furnace, push reset button: Voila!!!! "YES, it's running". "Slow down bud, give it some time to see if you get heat in the house before you celebrate, ok?" "OK, I'll go make the coffee and contemplate getting prepared to fire up the woodstove. God I'm glad we kept that stove hooked up."

Now, two hours later: -5 outside, 62 inside, aside: "Hmm, may have to fire up that stove afterall."