It is absolutely frigid outside and I can just hear my mom’s voice. If she were still alive, she would be huddled in her room, the space heater would be on high and the door would be shut tightly. I used to laugh at her and how she would shiver when it was time to come out for lunch or dinner. She would put on her heaviest jacket, that didn’t look like a coat. She would sit as close to the fireplace as she could get. On days like we have been having this last couple weeks, we had our fireplace on, even with the furnace. There is no way you can overcome temperatures that are sub-zero. The furnace is expensive to buy fuel for, so we use the fireplace. Mom hated the cold, and yet she loved living with us. There were times when I would take her food to her in her bedroom. I would bring mine back, and we would sit there and chat. Occasionally, my husband would come back and sit on the bed. He didn’t like the excess heating in her room, because she would have the thermostat at around eighty. He would eat quickly and leave. Mom understood, even if she did love his company. It was those times when we would have the best conversations. Sitting in that overheated room, I found my best friend and my confidante. She isn’t with me anymore, but I still turn the thermostat up in her room and I will sit there and talk to her. The heating soothes me and I can just see her sitting in front of her computer, and I can smile.