It was a nasty case of the jet-lags: shattered naps, passport interrogations, and processed meals. All we wanted to do was sleep, forever. Our flat had other plans. It was cold as icecream that's too frozen to scoop. We headed to the closest cafe praying to see only strangers, and happily, the landlords got the heat working again quickly. That was Thursday. Today, I woke up early to snow, and a sound like bowling balls falling through the ceiling. My first thought, I admit, was robbers. Walker padded out to find the heater had completely given out and the pump was throwing a fit. No heat until Monday. But, at least it wasn't robbers.

And so, my plans to write cozily this morning and initiate the new camera turned into pushing a huge blanket into the dryer and pulling it out to warm myself up before smooshing it back in again every 15 minutes. It's COLD. Walker's trying to study. We're tired. We have no hot water in our shower, ice water flows from the taps. It's frustrating.

But today is amusing. All this disruption makes living like trudging on snowshoes, and we're laughing at how ridiculous we look in layers of underarmour and fleeces. How often can you justify sitting in a cave between the couch and an electric heater (thanks, landlord!) organizing photos? And how often can you justify checking into a hotel in your own town?

How often do you find photos you don't remember in your organizing furor, which thaw you out of your glacial state?

Photos that remind you of a warmer existence.

Photos that say, you've seen this? Lucky duck.

That say, he loves you? Luckiest duck in the tub!

Today got messed up, and we wanted to jolt the heater into submission. But the getting-through of today makes it worth living; it would be so boring the other way. Life, like story, needs the bumpity bumps, so we're bouncing along,

together.