Christmas is, truly, the only thing that gets me through winter. The last few weeks have been wonderful and I couldn’t remember why I didn’t like winter so much. It was jacket-weather outside and it was cold, but bearable. And then two nights ago, the temperatures dropped and I’m sitting in my apartment trying not to curse everything because it’s so freaking cold.
I’m also really cheap so I didn’t want to turn the heat on, but I worked a double shift yesterday (15 hours shifts, wooot!) and my feet hurt and my teeth were chattering so I finally just turned it up. My apartment is pretty old, so it has an old thermostat where you just adjust the little lever, so I turned it up to about 65 and I could hear the heat kicking on. But all that was blowing out was lukewarm air. Is that normal? I craweld under my blankets, prayed that the furnace wouldn’t explode because it was making weird noises, and woke up in the morning feeling nice and toasty.
Warmth is one of the most beautiful things.
I can’t wait to go home and sit by the fire that my dad always makes downstairs. I can’t wait to go home and bake Christmas cookies and open the oven and watch the cookies cook. I can’t wait to lay on the ground with my dog and pull him close, dog hair flying in my mouth and his slobbery kisses. Three finals and four days (plus a couple hundred miles) are the only things in my way from going home. What a beautiful thought.
My family and I are going to see my grandma in Pennsylvania this year. A couple days after I get back we will drive up there for a long weekend. I haven’t seen her since my grandpap’s funeral a few years back, so it will be great to see her again. I’ve always loved their creaky house and the country. It’s so peaceful. It can be boring going up there, but it really is laid back. We’ll talk and play board games and do nothing, which I have never been so excited to do before.
Since the last time I blogged, my grandpa was diagnosed with colon cancer. You may remember my dad was diagnosed a year and some months ago, so it was kind of tiring to hear the news again. My grandpa is 90, so I’m more worried because of his age. He had surgery three weeks ago and has to wear a colostomy bag like my father’s for six weeks. He is staying with my parents until he gets it removed. It’s a bit of a blessing in disguise that my dad knows all about it, so he can help my grandpa with changing the bag and all of the issues that go along with it.
I talked on the phone with my mom last night and she said, “You know your father isn’t the most tender guy and grandpa and him haven’t always gotten along, but he has been great with him. It makes me love him in a whole different way.” Tabor has also been keeping my grandpa company, more than he would probably like, haha. My mom said he likes to lay on his feet, which grandpa really likes because his feet are always cold.
My dad has, by the grace of God, fully recovered and is pretty much back to normal. (Though, my gosh, his farts smell twenty times worse, which I didn’t think was possible to begin with.) Nonetheless, I’m very happy to be almost done with this semester and to go home to two men who have incredibly, awful-smelling farts!
Also, only 17 days ’til Christmas.