Sitting on the Heat Register Reading

Yes, it’s cold outside. Bone-chilling. Sometimes all I want to do is crawl into my loft and sit under blankets and read a book while sipping a hot drink. The cozy quotient.

As a kid on school break during the holidays I’d read first the books I got for Christmas, then I’d read the ones my mother bought for my father: current paperbacks, then I’d reread stuff off my brother Steve’s shelf. If I could get someone to drive me to the library, I’d be set for a while.

Anyway, my mother might find me sitting on top of the heat register in the bathroom—if she bothered to look for me. It was the warmest place n the house and a place utterly private. No one wanted to barge into the bathroom and out of respect usually didn’t knock on the door. They’d go to one of the other bathrooms.

This week with the relentless cold, where not even a hot drink or thick socks helped—I found myself remembering: this young girl seeking solace in books, a warm refuge in the midst of a family where I felt like an outsider.

Welcome to Winter!