Ever since the 1994 Winter Olympics in Lillehammer, Norway, I have been pretty much besotted by winter. I love the Winter Olympics, so much! I love the strange and mostly old foreign places, the lovely little cobbled cities, the alpine scenery, the snug TV stage sets with fake crackling fireplaces and smushy leather chairs, and there’s me at home under a big pile of blankets, watching rosy-cheeked people from all over the world play in the snow. It’s my favorite thing, the coziest thing ever. According to the TV, it is customary in Lillehammer to get around town, running your errands and whatnot, on skis. If you should have a baby along, you strap her into a pretty little wooden sleigh and push the sleigh along the ice like that, your little baby snuggled up in there like cozy a loaf of bread, and you ski along behind the sleigh, waving to your neighbors, or stopping for a bit of chitchat or a hot coffee, and then you ski home. And the snow sprinkles down and your baby coos happily, her cheeks rosy, and you are pink-cheeked too, and you did not have to scrape the snow off your car or dig out the driveway or wait for the plow to go by just to get anywhere. Seriously? Just thinking about living that way makes my heart turn over. We woke to frost the other day, and all I can do in the face of that is knit. It’s all I want to do.