We have forced hot-air heat, which means this place is dry and dusty (an asthmatic's purgatory) all winter.
A little while ago I turned on the heat, just to make sure everything would fire up when we really need it. I heard the furnace kick on and then the blower got started.
Middle Sister looked up from what she was doing and sniffed the air.
"The heat's on," I explained.
"I know," she said. "I love that smell."
"You love the smell of burning dust?"
I think it's time to open a window or two.
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