While I was out of town for Thanksgiving, winter showed up in Little Rock. I got home last night and turned the heater up to a comfortable 72. I live in a space roughly the size of a bread box, and the air system sounds like a giant humming when it runs. And still, it takes hours to get the temperature to go from 64 up to comfortable. Last night I was sitting in my red chair writing and the A/C was humming away, when a frosty silence fell upon the bread box.
I went to investigate, and the thermostat said, "Lo Bat," which, when translated, means, "It's about to get chilly up in here."
If I were a thermostat, I would give someone about twelve hours of notice before I quit my job. Me and my thermostat don't see eye to eye on this.
I woke up this morning with icicles on my lashes and two cat-pops on the bed. Okay, the cats didn't seem to notice, but my limbs felt like they'd been shot through with frozen rebar. The only part of me not immobilized was my snot glands.
Guzzling hot coffee and a scarf took the edge off, but it wasn't until after a Kroger run for double A's and those fire starter logs that things started to get good again.
As I thawed, with a cozy little blaze in the grate and the A/C giant humming a contented tune, I realized how glad I am to live in the era of central heating and air. If God had called me to live in a time or place where such luxuries weren't available, life would still be good, God would still be love, and I would still have gobs of things to be grateful for. But, today I'm so thankful for this in particular.
Thank you God for starter logs and the brilliant people who formulated them, for hot coffee, sweatshirts, and most of all for central heat.