Since it's going to be about 3 degrees tonight, when Bob called and said he was on the way home, he said to go ahead and crank the thermostat up to 63 or 64 or, "live a little, turn it up to 65!" I talked to my mother night before last, and asked if they were keeping warm, and asked her if they were turning the thermostat down, and she said no, that even though they'd gotten a high gas bill--higher than ours--they were still keeping the house at around 70 degrees. It's a measure of my own coldness that that sounds like a heatwave to me.

My fingers aren't terribly cold tonight, maybe because I've been typing. Oh--I know. It's because I was just washing dishes in hot water. I guess the effect of the hot water hasn't worn off yet. My toes are frozen. They feel like ice even though I've got two pairs of socks on.

I shouldn't complain, I know. In Russia it's probably 50 below zero. And I heard this morning that a bunch of people died in Afghanistan refugee camps because there was a cold snap and they had nothing but plastic sheets to keep them warm. So I do try not to complain even though I feel like I should be wearing a scrap wrapped around my face to keep my nose warm.

Bob just came by--he said he feels a draft of cold air coming in around the front door; he's going to go get some weatherstripping . . .

Later:

I scooped up Dinah and retreated to the bedroom while he did it, since obviously he was going to have to open the door in order to put on the weatherstripping.

He came up and told me it was safe to come out--it was so cold the adhesive wouldn't stick to the doorframe, so he's going to have to wait until tomorrow and try again.

I consoled myself by making Willa, the Electrical Goddess, at The Hero Machine. She's holding lightning bolts in both her fists--heat!

We've having a shower for Julia tomorrow at work during lunch. I came home tonight and wrapped her gift and made a card; I just discovered that I left one of the things out of the box and I'm trying to decide whether I should try to open up the package and put it in or just hand it to her later and tell her what happened. Maybe I could attach it to the outside of the box and pretend I meant to use it as a decoration . . .

I made pasta salad to take as my contribution to lunch. I'm going to take the camera, I think, and try to get some pictures. Her husband is coming over, too, so I'm sure she'd like photographs.

I helped her make a website for the baby last week--it's not live yet, but should be shortly. It will be nice for her to have a place to post baby pictures and updates for distant relatives, and to have them for herself later--a digital scrapbook.