For a chunk of my life I grew up in a colder temperature. Every year for half of the year, hot as well as cold temperatures were below 50 degrees. My sister as well as I being youngsters would play outside (well, my sister would play. I would tag along waiting until I could go back inside as well as read). I remember those days. All of us would stay outside until the two of us could not know our toes or our fingers. All of us would be wet from head to toe, half frozen as well as worn out. Finally, the two of us would go inside. That was a glorious feeling. The heat would greet us; I knew downstairs in the basement that the gas furnace was on. Blue flames licking along generating that heat (I would watch the flames occasionally). It was moderate as well as so comforting. My Dad had a rule that the two of us had to take wet stuff off down at the door. So, the two of us utilized the large vent down by the door. My sister as well as I would take turns in front of it drying off. The warmth would thaw out frozen appendages as well as dry wet clothes. With our wet underthings, the two of us would hang them to dry where the heat could get to them. Once the two of us were sufficiently dry, the two of us still needed to thaw out some more. All of us would go upstairs as well as find a vent to lay by. This was my favorite times. I would grab a book that I was reading as well as lay by the vent of my choice. Warm air would blow throughout the room, warming it as well as me. That was the blessing of a heated house.