It has been much warmer in the house since I put bubble wrap over the windows. Our heater is about eighty five years old, and every time I light it I singe the hair off my arms. Poof! Bubble wrap.

The leaves have fallen; the tree is up. I have most of my Christmas shopping done, but haven’t sent a single Christmas card. It’s the season I love to dread; it isn’t cold enough to be pretty, but it’s cold enough for everything to hibernate for the winter. (Including me, I guess).