Hot stuff

I had a little thermal lesson when I first got here. It was pushing 20 degrees outside a couple of months ago, and I was watching TV in the kitchen, one of the coldest rooms in the house (it faces the uphill breeze), so I turned on the oven to heat up the space. Dad came in and told me that by heating up the kitchen, I was raising the temperature around the thermostat, just around the corner on the first floor, thus turning off the heat to the upstairs.

"Yous makin' da radyaters up der cold 'en'at 'cuz day tink is worm dahn 'ere."

Hmmm, it blew my personal "heat rises" theory out of the water. While heat does, indeed, rise, it likely does not rise at a rate fast enough to replenish the warmth I had cut off to the entire second floor.

I remembered that lesson tonight. It was cold upstairs when I put Zoe to bed, but it was a good 50 degrees outside. I opened the kitchen door to let in the cool breeze. And -- get this, a blonde CAN do a little logic -- I lowered the temp around the thermostat. It's now all toasty upstairs, where I have retreated to blog on my trusty Mac. Dad is afraid some horrible virus will consume his c'puter after midnight.