I have worn winter underwear – longjohns – every day since January 15, the last day of our earlier-than-usual January thaw, which lasted four days.  I can’t remember the first day that I put them on this winter season but it was likely early December because the cold came early this year.

It feels so good to take them off at night, and crawl into bed unswaddled, even with the frantic transition from shower to bed in a 50 degree house.

Last night I woke to the smell of raisin bread being baked at 2 am, followed by Susan’s return to bed.  Too stupid to ask why she was baking bread at 2 am, I reveled in sensuous delights of  skin on skin and the smell of sweet bread.

It’s morning now, 10 degrees and new snow outside, three layers of clothing on top, three below, wood stove ticking with the warming fire.  

Sweet memories of a moment without longjohns…   

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