When the rain is not so much falling as diving, or flinging itself, or assaulting the buildings and ground and trees and all else in its path, the sound of it on windowpanes and walls makes me feel cold.  I may not be cold, but the sound of raindrops violently smacking the vent in the kitchen, and the window above my bed makes me shiver.  It makes me think of dozens of memories of my childhood, because the top bunk I slept on for years was often against the wall between my bedroom and the bathroom.  So when Dad would get up at about 5:30am or so and take his shower, I would wake up to the sound of water forcefully hitting the bathtub floor and walls.  It’s very much the same sound.  It was always dark that early, it seems.

I would slowly wake up, loving my warm and fuzzy blankets, feeling a shiver or two because of the sound.  Some mornings, if I woke up before Dad was out of the shower, I would gather up my favorite blanket, sneak off my bed and out to the living room or dining room.  Our house used central heating then, and we had floor vents in every room.  So I would take my blanket and find the vent that Dad wouldn’t look at (it was always a gamble) and make myself a blanketty heat cocoon to combat the shivering.  I’d sit there, soaking up every bit of warm air until I was sweating.  Dad took issue with this behavior because it stopped the heat from dispersing through the house, and kept the furnace running longer.  That cost him money.  I didn’t really care, though.  I wanted to be warm.

Here, in this new grown-up life, I have no floor vents and no one gets up earlier than me.  So I have to endure without a large source of heat readily accessible and sometimes hot tea can’t cut it.  Sometimes my back feels cold and refuses to get warm, unless I worm back into bed with Nikolai and snuggle my back up against him.  He is very warm, and if he didn’t toss so dang much he’d be almost as good as a floor vent.