Cold weather

"November is the Norway of months"--Emily Dickinson

Our house is about a hundred years old. We bought it from a family returning to Portugal almost twenty years ago.  The first time I entered it I thought, "What are we doing here?  We'll never be able to afford this place!" But we managed to swing it, and it's about doubled in value since then.

It was originally owned by a guy who had a whole orchard just south of St. Clair West:  we continue that tradition with big cherry and plum trees in the back yard.  It was built next to that avenue, until he sold the strip of land just next to the street--it had become very valuable--and moved his house a short distance to the south, to the property he still owned. (People put houses on trucks and moved them a lot more back then.)

The house is made of red brick, and had an extension added in the 1930s or so, and you can see the line where the brick pattern is interrupted.  My bedroom is on the second storey of that extension. (They added an extra sun room in the 1960s or so.) Unfortunately the first extension wasn't well-built on the second story.  My room only has electrical outlets on the wall facing the older part of the house, and only one vent for heating and air-conditioning.

The single vent doesn't matter in spring or fall, and even in the summer I'm just as happy to cool the room by opening the windows.  But it's a disadvantage in the winter, so I got an electric heating element for that season.  I brought it up from the basement just the other day. (I've also been bringing out extra blankets for my bed, and wearing a blanket for when I'm on the computer in my room.) To tell the truth, I rather like the time of year when things are starting to get cold.  Indian summer, on the other hand, feels a bit unnatural to me.