It's Still (Sorta) Hot!

It was funny, thought Jane, how little things will return to you when you least anticipate it.

The big memories? Those moments of immense joy, or sadness, or fear? Of course, you could expect them to intrude upon your life at any time. But it was the small feelings, the fleeting moments of some trivial thing–it fascinated Jane how they managed, so often, to muscle their way back to the surface.

For example, the one that had just come to her a moment ago, as she stirred a pot of soup on a frigid January night: how her favorite deal site, Meh dot com, had thought it smart to sell a misting fan in the beginning of September! Just as fan season was winding down!

Ha! Ridiculous! She was glad she hadn’t bought one, that was for sure!

Of course, she understood. It was like how she purchased her winter coats in March and her sandals in October; things were always cheaper at the end of the season. But still, you could hang a coat in the closet, or stash a pair of sandals in a shoe organizer. A big box with a fan in it, on the other hand? Did you really want that crowding out your closet until July?

Just thinking of the summer and the heat it would bring made sweat gather on Jen’s brow.

Or maybe it was the steam rising off the soup, which Jane had been standing over for about an hour. Or maybe it was the fact that she had her cardigan on over a sweatshirt, plus some fleece pajama pants, plus some wool socks, plus some thick slippers. Because it was an especially cold night, and Jane didn’t want to turn up the heat. Any more. She had already turned it up a little bit.

Jane breathed in a bit of the steam. Ahh, now that was nice. That’s what you wanted in the middle of January: a nice, savory soup smell to fill the air. And this one smelled particularly nice. Which was good. Because that odor would linger for a while, given how still the air was in her apartment. She’d be smelling it for days, if not a whole week.

But anyway, what was she thinking? Oh, right. A pot of soup on the stove. That was what you wanted in winter. Not a cool mist.

Seriously! A cool mist? In the cold months? What was the use, thought Jane, as she gripped the wooden spoon to give the soup a stir, noticing as she did so that two of her knuckles had cracked and begun to bleed in the dry air.

The soup finished cooking at last, so she took a bowl to the couch. That way, she could sit under her blanket, eat it, drink some tea, and watch a show. Although, as she settled in, she thought about maybe opening a window. After all, with the soup, the tea, and the warm clothes, the heat on, and the blanket, it had gotten a bit too hot.

And sure, opening a window would be wasteful. And it would let more of that dry winter air in. But there was simply no other way to cool down on a winter night like this.