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