The Cold, My Nemesis

‘I can’t defend it myself,” I said to my child when he complained of yet another day of low-single-digit temperatures greeting him as he went to school. “It’s indefensible.” For ten days we’ve been below freezing, and for many of them in the single digits for a good part of the night and early morning. Our heat pump is mostly holding up, but because the blower is running so much of the day, our home humidity is hovering below “morning hacking” and above “uncontrollable nosebleed.”

We live in a house that was built in the 1930s. And there are a lot of perks to having that pedigree. The old mantelpiece in the dining room is a gorgeous and unique sculpture. There is nice casing around the doors. There are walls between the rooms. Actual walls. They allow you to do something in one room, while other people do other things in another room, and you don’t bother one another. This technology has been nearly lost to time and fashion.

About the Author

Michael Brendan Dougherty

Michael Brendan Dougherty is a senior writer at National Review Online.

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‘I can’t defend it myself,” I said to my child when he complained of yet another day of low-single-digit temperatures greeting him as he went to school. “It’s indefensible.” For ten days we’ve been below freezing, and for many of them in the single digits for a good part of the night and early morning. Our heat pump is mostly holding up, but because the blower is running so much of the day, our home humidity is hovering below “morning hacking” and above “uncontrollable nosebleed.”

We live in a house that was built in the 1930s. And there are a lot of perks to having that pedigree. The old mantelpiece in the dining room is a gorgeous and unique sculpture. There is nice casing around the doors. There are walls between the rooms. Actual walls. They allow you to do something in one room, while other people do other things in another room, and you don’t bother one another. This technology has been nearly lost to time and fashion.