‘Tis the season to take things for granted and go capitalist-crazy, or so I’m told.  Today, however, I’m finding myself feeling definitely pampered and Queenly because I have central heating (mostly reliable), indoor plumbing (completely reliable), and double-glazing (a bit leaky).

See, it’s 40 below zero (fahrenheit) in the wind chill here right now.  In common parlance, that’s “freaking frigid.”

This morning as I was complaining that I still had to go to work (two hours late to allow for it to warm up a few degrees for kids waiting for buses), stepping out of a nice, hot shower, I suddenly felt sheepish.  I had a warm room to step into–warmth I didn’t have to carry and burn wood, or coal, to have.  Constant, steady, reliable (except for the three furnace repairs I had done last month, ugh).

And I didn’t have to pee in a bucket or risk my skin going to an outhouse in temperatures that can freeze within seconds.

And only a few of my windows were iced over on the inside, and that’s only because the storm windows weren’t yet on (how stupid is this?) or not completely sealed (as on the storm doors).

And, after my husband left the car run for a few minutes (he had to step out for a smoke, anyway, is my rationalization for his starting it), I had a very warm (overly warm) car to step into after only a few cold steps from my warm house.

And I wondered what people did before the last few decades of princely pampering?  How did people survive here?  How *do* people survive in places with extreme temperatues but little in the way of modern convenience even today?

Now, I like winter.  In fact, I love winter.  I would never live anywhere more temperate than where I do, and I’d much prefer to be even further north.  My father, too, is a true Scandinavian who relishes the cold and abhors the humid heat of summer.

So, I’m not complaining.

But I do wonder.  I asked my father–born in 1923 in central Minnesota to a poor farming family–how he survived before air conditioning, and he said, quite honestly, “I have no idea.”  Like father like daughter, neither of us likes temperatures above 75F at any time.

But, in most cases, the summer heat doesn’t kill—the winter cold, on the other hand?

My parents have told me stories of warming rocks, or potatoes, on the hearth and putting in the foot of their beds at night.  Of having the dogs sleep with them.  Of the dread of emerging from under the covers in the morning, to a cold, unheated upstairs, with the fireplace/woodstove a full flight of stairs below, and all of this before decent insulation.

I don’t know how humans adapt to this, and I fear how weak and unable to cope we’ve become in a generation or two.

However, my fear hasn’t prompted me to sign up for any winter camping expedition in order to toughen myself up, I notice…

(And I promise to get the remaining storm windows in place as soon as it’s warm enough for the latches to move!)