Frostbound

Chicago weather is a funny thing. If this had been a "normal" winter (and by that I mean "one of the sort we used to have and will likely never see again"), today wouldn't've stood out at all. We'd've had at least two weeks of bone-chilling cold already; a high of -9℃ might even have seemed balmy by comparison. Add to that the fact that it was sunny and not really all that windy, and we almost certainly would've taken advantage of a weekday off to get out of the house for a change.

Instead, this is the coldest it's been so far, sending the GWO and me into full-on nesting-at-home mode. I did step out for all of twenty minutes to run to the store and back because I decided I simply had to have half-and-half for the chowder, and when I got there I proceeded to stock up as if I wasn't going out again for a week. Before dinner, we nixed the idea of another movie and instead set the fireplace on "high". (I told monshu that once it got hot enough in the room, I'd turn it down; it never did.)

I wish I could say I regretted the forgone opportunities, but there was a moment when I sitting in the wing-back chair in front of the fireplace, stroking the cat and stealing glances of the Old Man in the comfy chair with his feet up reading from a book I'd given him, and I thought to myself, Isn't this the life I always dreamed I'd have?