Addicted

I am decidedly addicted to my bedroom. I first realized this when we drove away from our home last Friday as we headed to Memphis for my nephew Ethan's baptism. I didn't want to leave, although I also wanted to go and be with my brother's family for this momentous occasion. I was surprised to find that I was thinking about my bedroom and its' cozy fireplace, comfy bed and clean floor. Rance cleaned it several weeks ago and it has been part of my Game On! goals to keep it clean. I've been successful. And so almost every night for the last couple of weeks, I've lugged a load of firewood up the stairs and used the trusty lighter that Santa left in Rance's stocking and built a blazing fire. Then, I'll get into my Jammie's, grab either my latest novel or "Jesus the Christ" and cuddle up in my bed or tug the couch around in front of the fire. I am, in fact, sitting in front of the fire as I write this. I love the campfire smell. I love to watch the fire flicker on the ceiling when it's time to turn out the lights. I love the crackling sound. It almost makes me like winter.