I pushed the light light button again to see the thermostat read 63 degrees F.
It’s not like 63 degrees F is an unusual temperature in our house these days. It’s just that for one moment I questioned my own sanity.
63 degrees F. Voluntarily, we are living home with an average daytime temperature of 63 degrees F. A layer of dull ash sits in the bottom of the wood stove. The dust continues to settle without threat of combustion on the heater coils of the furnace.
It isn’t so much the 63 deg F temperature stuns me as the fact that I now consider it a comfortable temperature. I recall a time in my young twenties when I constantly complained to my then-boyfriend that his roommate, the home owner, was extremely rude to keep his house at a frigid 65 degrees F when guests (girlfriends) where there! I made a point of walking around his house wrapped inside of a blanket. Now, when my husband offers to build a fire, I rush in front of the stove wielding a roll of newspapers screeching for him to “Get Back! Wait just five minutes longer!”