For Christmas a couple years earlier, my mom and dad had given me a reading lamp that clipped to the headboard of my bed. I loved that reading lamp so much. At night, after dinner, I’d sometimes go to my room, shut the door, and get under the blankets and read. Because our house was heated by a woodstove, having the door closed to my room meant that I was literally cut off from the heat. I didn’t mind. The colder the room got, the more blankets, afghans and quilts I’d pile on top of myself. I read the usual…