Its been huffing and puffing out all night. Snow pelting the window. Gusts of wind that seem to shift the house. The house cracks in the falling temperatures.

This morning, opened my eyes to an unnatural light in the house which means the ground is covered with white. The wind is from the north, so puffs of snow fall off the roof on the south side as if thrown down by an assistant on a set of a bad movie. Too much! Make it look more natural!

The woodpile downstairs has been sitting there all summer, so I am burning it down to nothing to make sure there are no dead mice under there. All small stuff. Burns fast. Can't wait to get a new load of ash stacked up down there. A possible job for today.

I have three heat sources in the house: The electric furnace, which gives off a competely unsatisfying heat that doesn't make me warm at all; the gas fireplace, which makes the living room toasty but nothing else, and the little woodstove downstairs, which burns furiously, and makes the floor upstairs foot-friendly, but can't keep up when its cold and windy. All three hearths were busy last night. The woodstove carries most of the load as long as I feed it, but as the night wears on, and the wood burns down, the gas fireplace and the electric furnace bat the ball back and forth.

My house is pretty porous. In a snowstorm, you can feel little drafts as you walk around. I don't mind. The air changes itself frequently, and I think that is good. It isn't healthy to live inside a plastic bag.

Well, I had hoped this snowstorm would miss us. It was supposed to veer south. That according to me, not the weather guy. I was certain it would veer south. I almost left the garage door open last night just to exhibit confidence in my prognosis--but I pulled it down before bed. Oh me of little faith. Look what I done. Made a little dent in the county snow plowing budget, I did.