When I was a kid, I remember stopping at my grandma’s house on the way home from school.
- She lived right along my route home and I told mom it would be rude if I were to go by her house and not stop to give my favorite grandmother a hug.
Many times, I would sit talking to her and forget that I had to be home at a certain time. She would open the door to her oven, which was a source of heating for the kitchen and let me sit with my feet propped up toward the oven. Once my feet were warm, I would walk the rest of the way home. I loved stopping there, even when my feet weren’t frozen from the cold and ice. The other day, I was thinking about my grandmother and I opened the oven door. I knew I was taking the heat away from my roasting meat, but my toes were cold. I knew I could stand by the air vent, or turn up the thermostat, but it was the memory I was craving. I propped up my feet and I felt the delicious heat coming from the oven and spreading up through my legs. I began to smile at the memory, even as I knew I was wasting energy and possibly ruining my dinner. I had to turn the thermostat down a bit, because the oven had actually heated my kitchen for a short time. My husband came home shortly after and he wanted to know why it was cold in the kitchen. He thought maybe we had a problem with the furnace. I told him what I had been doing. He simply smiled and kissed my forehead.