Wife who wants to get pregnant reads. Son demands of father and mother, as dad carves free range turkey desperately in the war-zone kitchen people loud in the living room and dining room and basement, that they turn up the heat. “Word on the street is . . .” he says, after whispers son’s wife and sister-in-law enough is enough – crazy-damn cold in the house thermostat 67 window draft – something has to be done and they send him into that frontline kitchen, swearing father, as their representative. He starts with “I know this might not be the right time but . . .” and after a few bits argument they allow 70 and he does 72 and everyone voices appreciation and sister-in-law high-fives. We’re talking the small family within the family thumbtacked blankets over windows in the guest room on the cold side, and youngest brother taken to falling asleep on the brown leather couch under blankets his room frigid, the study with desk and PC too cold for hurried emails, and fireplace unless you’re sitting hearthstone isn’t soothing jack. When warm people smile. They play Chinese checkers and checkers and chess and Taboo at the dining room table. Caffeine bookstores with corduroys crossed basic requirement, amoeba slow-moving, urgent-less, fed.
