So it's like this: I was going to go on and on about the icicle forming off the tip of my nose; the laundry freezing solid in the washing machine; the house pipes bursting in air (along with fireworks), but

honesty compels me to admit that it's only 38 degrees this pre-dawn morning and the weatherbug website says that it will hit a steamy 64 degrees by this afternoon.

The cat is hunkered down, loaf-shaped, on the down comforter and I'm bundled up in my beloved wool sweater (jumper). I have three of them, but in sunny hot southern California it's seldom cold enough that I get them out of the cedar chest--maybe once every three or four years, if that often. Most years winter is too warm for wool.

I was wearing a knit cotton top and fleece vest yesterday evening, sitting here and shivering, until I remembered the difference wool makes. One sweater is cashmere (a long-ago extravagant purchase) and as soon as I pulled it over my head, it started to trap body heat and I felt much warmer.

The cat wants to share.