Baby, it’s cold inside

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OK, I’m going to admit it. We do need heat here in California. This family of Northerners has been schooled.

It turns out that houses of a certain vintage here (late 1940s) seem to not have insulation. Or storm windows. And, while our pipes aren’t going to freeze, it gets chilly at night. 37 degrees is nothing to sniff at if your house is essentially uninsulated.

Our house has a heater. That’s right. A heater. One heater, a floor to ceiling unit, about 2 feet wide, that sits in the wall of our living room, and then back through the wall to the little hallway between our bedrooms and the bathroom. It’s brand name? “Cozy.”

I knew it looked familiar…it’s the same as the heater in the house my Dad grew up in. When he visited, he told us it was not really good for much other than standing in front of while you changed your clothes so you don’t freeze in the brief moments when you’re naked.

We caved and turned it on this morning when Erik discovered he could see his breath in the kids’ room. And it got warmer. And there was much less shivering.

I caught Erik standing, luxuriating in front of it. The cat is getting cozy with the Cozy, too.

Thank goodness we kept our wool sweaters, though!

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