Laundry day today, so I stripped our bed and there were four loads of laundry to be done as soon as we were out of the shower this morning. We've got a double-size shower so we shower together every morning. Very efficient since each of us gets a good back-scrub courtesy of the other. Jackie and Jillie keep nosing about at the shower door wondering when we'll emerge. It's where we disappeared and they think they can see us ... is that us? Then where's breakfast!?!

After breakfast when I went back upstairs to make up the bed, it was a tossup; another set of flannel sheets or go to the fleecy sheet sets that my husband insists it's time for. Whenever we haul ourselves upstairs at night to get in bed, a blast of cool air sets us back on our heels after we've left the cozy warmth of the fireplace-heated family room. Jackie and Jillie may be oblivious to an Arctic bedroom but we're not. Once under the covers it takes a while to warm up, even with flannel sheets.

But those fleece sheets wrap us in warmth immediately. It's great when we first get into bed to be welcomed so warmly, but at some point during the night while my husband remains snug and comfortable I feel too hot. And progressively hotter. It's like when I first began menopause and would be on the bus going from my workplace back home in the evening, and I'd look around at everyone bundled up in winter gear and wonder, is it just me?

Yes, in two weeks' time I'll be 84, and I'm still flashing. Usually in the wee morning hours. And that's when I begin flinging the duvet off and just leave the flat sheet covering my overheated body, and finally I can't stand the flat sheet either, and hanging myself over the edge of the bed trying to find that elusive cool air to soothe my burning flesh, I gradually cool down again, and fall back to sleep. Some time later I awake briefly, shivering with cold and grab for the sheet, then the duvet, doubled over my husband, wrap myself back up and wait for the next wave then fall asleep again.

So, I relented; when night-time temperatures dip below ten degrees and a night wind rattles the windows, it's time for the heavy guns, and out come the fleecy sheets. My husband will be pleased. I won't mention it, he'll find out for himself when he drops into bed tonight.

Because going off to the ravine at 3:00 in the afternoon means we're entering a dusky forested environment and leaving as darkness seriously descends, we decided to make for the ravine an hour earlier today. The temperature had risen all the way to  -7C, and it wouldn't be getting any warmer. There was a light wind, not the tempest that we braved through yesterday at -14C, so it would be a well-tempered walk today. We still dressed with care, though we felt assured there'd be no penetrating cold fingers of ice probing through our clothing today. And to top things off, it was a sunny day!

Yesterday, when I was halfway across one of the bridges' 40-ft span, Jackie pulling ahead of me as I held back slightly, negotiating the icy surface of the floorboards, we were suddenly surprised by a loud thumping and looked up to see a bicycle bearing down on us at high speed. A bicyclist on one of those thick-tired all-terrain bikes had caroomed down from the top of the hill directly before the bridge. He obviously hadn't the patience to wait a few minutes for us to clear the bridge.

In the event, there was no room for him to zip past us without hitting us, leaving me to frantically attempt to get Jackie closer to me, fearful of the bike riding right over him, so the bicyclist had to take instant measures to cut his speed, and lean with his bicycle against the side of the bridge to avoid hitting us, and edge his way across. No words as we passed one another in silence.

But not today. It was like old times. We had the ravine and its forested trails entirely to ourselves. A quiet, peaceful hike through the forest, the only sound was our cleated boots cracking crisply over the ice on the trails. Beyond odd to be out there midway through December with the spectacle of the landscape absent an accumulated snowpack. Entirely  unusual, heading toward a Christmas without snow down on the ground.

We agreed between us that our peaceful hike today was likely thanks not only to the cold, but to last-minute shopping for Christmas, calling the faithful out to shop 'till they drop, even as the Province of Ontario is notching, day after day, ever higher case numbers, hospitalizations and deaths from COVID-19. 

Life goes on, as it should, as it must.