Tonight we celebrated the changing of the seasons with an observation that most would consider beneath notice. This ritual, to me, however, has a kind of special signifigance. To me, this simple act holds an import charged with the turning of the leaves and the falling mercury of the thermometer.

Tonight I flipped on the heater in the car.

I suppose it's a little odd to invest such an action with ritualistic and mysterious import. It is, however, one more way to mark the passage of time- a way to know another year has passed.

It is an opportunity to stop and think. Do I remember turning the heater on for the first time last year? What was going on in my life then? What has transpired since then? What have I done, where have I gone?

For the benefit of the Roger of 2002, I will note that this evening when I switched on the heater, Ruth, Isaiah, and I had just gotten in the van as we were leaving the home of H. and L. B. As they typically do, they had called on the spur of the moment and wondered if we would like to come over for the evening.

The Bs. stay home most evenings since little E. B., 17 months old, goes to bed at 8pm. E and Isaiah are pretty good friends, even though she is considerably younger than Isaiah. He likes playing with her toys since she has a lot of flashy-noisy electronic ones and, due in no small part to me mandates to gift-givers, Isaiah has very few of those, and E likes having another little person to chase around the place.

Another reason Isaiah likes going to the Bs is that he usually ends up in his pajamas before we leave. What is it that makes it so fun and cozy for a little kid to put on their pajamas at someone else's house? I guess it has something to do with falling asleep on the ride home. Perhaps there is some kind of magnification of feelings of comfort, reassurance,and security to get in your pajamas at a friend's house and drift off to slumber land on the ride home, only to awaken the next morning safe and secure in your own bed with Mom and Dad in the next room.

It's one of those emotions that is difficult to articulate, but I know how he feels. I remember feeling the same way, so I am more than happy to have to drag him, like a sack of potatoes out of the van, lug him upstairs, and nestle him gently in his bed. I pull the blanket up to his chin and wrap his arm around whichever of his stuffed animals come to hand first.

First heat is about warmth- inside and out.