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As a weatherman, I am very conscious of the climate control in my home. With the cooler weather coming, like many of you, before going to sleep, I made sure the thermostat was set to a very comfortable 77 degrees, and the heat was ready to kick on if it dipped below that figure. Before I leave the house very early in the morning, I double check to make sure my wife will be plenty warm when she awakes a few hours later.

I have just arrived home a few minutes ago, and my efforts were obviously in vain, because, according to my wife, this morning, the house was absolutely “freezing.”

Now, when I was in fourth grade, I seem to remember being taught that the temperature that defined freezing was 32 degrees. (My fourth grade teacher, Miss G’Fransisco has retired in Naples, and she will back this up, if you don’t believe me) Could it be that my thermostat is off by 45 degrees? Well, my pal Stan helped me install it, so that is a possibility,…..but no, the thermostat is working perfectly.

As I’ve stated in this blog before, my wife and I have very differing opinions regarding the definition of cold weather, due largely to where we grew up.

I am very tempted to tell my wife the story about the time I had to rescue my 10 year old brother during our paper route, because he was stuck in a front yard with snow up to his chest.

I am tempted to tell her about the Chicago Blizzard of 1979, where the temperature hit a record 19 below, and my brother and I spent the whole day snowmobiling.

I am tempted to tell her about the endless mornings, when my brother and I awoke in our bedroom behind the garage, and could actually SEE OUR BREATH. (Years later, my father relented to our complaints, and bought us 2 electric blankets from Ron’s Recall Warehouse. The duct tape on the cord would sometimes scratch our feet, but at least we were warmer)

I am tempted to tell her the story about how, as a weatherman in Rhinelander Wisconsin, I would call the wind chill factor of 40 below “cold,” and get numerous phone calls from agitated viewers telling me that “you don’t know what cold is, son!”

I am tempted to tell my wife about how before school, we would cook potatoes in the wood-burning stove, and keep them in our pockets to stay warm during the (insert greatly exaggerated mileage here) walk to school every morning, and then eat the potatoes for breakfast when we got to school. (O.K.,…that’s my dad’s story, but Uncle George swears it’s true.)

I am tempted to tell any and all of these stories, but instead,…I will bring the thermostat up to 80, because she’s right, it is freezing in here. And later, I might go out and buy her an electric blanket.