Keeping the wolf from the door, or The past is not dead, it's not even past

It was 20° F (almost minus 7° C) here this morning. The birdbath was a solid block of ice.

Winter is making an early appearance this year. The door from our kitchen to our patio is a bit drafty, which we never notice unless the air is cold. Last night I used hand towels to plug the door frame. It's easy peasy. All you have to do is fold three or four hand towels in half vertically, then take a table knife from the kitchen drawer and use it to poke them into the gaps from the top of the door to the bottom. It works like a charm. I also pushed something across the bottom of the door as a barricade against the winter air. The windows in this house are okay without help from me.

Something else we do every winter around here is put duct tape over every electrical outlet that is not being used.

I do not live in a hovel, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. It's much better than my childhood home out in Texas, where every time it rained we had to use every pot and pan and bowl in the house to catch the leaks from our corrugated tin roof.

I'm not kidding. It still amazes me after all these years that sometimes I don't know it is raining unless I look out the window because we can't hear the rain hitting the roof.

Things were very primitive in my old home, which consisted of four rooms and a path.

If you don't know what that means, get an old person who grew up in the country to tell you.

I must end this post or I will become depressed, but you get extra points if you spotted the quotation from William Faulkner.