Brrrrr!

The thermostat in the hall tells me it's a cozy seventy degrees in the center of the house. I wish that thermostat could take a walk into the den and sit where I'm sitting, near a couple of windows and a door, and reassess the situation. Even the keyboard I'm typing on is cold to the touch.

I'm wearing an old fleece "jogging suit" (the quotation marks are because I've never jogged in it even once) with a sleeveless T-shirt under the top to keep out the draft, and I have a big plush throw wrapped around my shoulders. Heavy socks on my feet, of course. I'm still chilled to the bone.

The predicted "wintry mix" at our house contained sleet, not snow, with just enough moisture mixed in to turn it into solid sheets of ice.

Most of the driveway is coated in ice.

At the fence line there are pileups with leaves

and other things frozen inside. Is that a worm

in the bottom right-hand corner?

The patio chairs are all stuck in place.

I wonder if heat loss from the house is responsible

for that unfrozen path on the right side of this photo.

With temperatures in the low-twenties and wind chill temperatures nearing single digits, we've had to leave a faucet dripping for the last three nights and two days. It seems impossible to me that the forecast calls for temps in the mid-seventies on Saturday--three days from now. Say what? I'll believe it when I feel it on my skin.