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