Oh, the humidity!

I once tried to find an air conditioner in December. This winter, in the same month, I tried for a dehumidifier.

Not easy to find in the Yukon, those. The back wall of Canadian Tire has stacks upon racks of humidifiers, but very little selection of the "de-" variety. Desperate to foist off the ones they did have, I got a one-third discount.

This house doesn't breathe properly. For one thing, I've never, ever, not once had a static electric shock in the place, summer or winter. But when condensation started building up on the back walls of the closet, I figured there was a problem.

The dehumidifier now hisses away in its corner, sucking a few litres of water out of the air each day, and yet I still can't summon a spark by scuffling along on the carpet.

How different from my youth in Ottawa, where winter was generally spent dodging metal in the apartment. Except for that one time I got brand new cross-country skis and thought I'd try them out first on the living room carpet. After a few in-place strides, I took them off and reached to turn off the room's lights.

About the last thing I remember of that incident was a three-foot blue bolt that led from my fingertip to the light switch plate screw.