Every winter, when the frost begins to settle on the window panes and the days grow shorter, Edith, now in her 90th year, faces a familiar challenge. Her small, cosy home is cold, but the heating stays off. It’s simply too expensive to run. Instead, Edith relies on her old electric fire in the sitting room—a relic from the days when such things were built to last.
The fire has three bars, but she’s strict with herself. Two bars are her limit, even on the chilliest nights. Three bars, she knows, would bring a bit more warmth, but her pension won’t stretch that far. It’s a decision made out of necessity, one of many small sacrifices she’s learned to make over the years.
As winter approaches, Edith finds herself worrying more than usual. She knows all too well how cold it can get, and she fears those particularly harsh nights when even two bars might not be enough. She’s seen many winters, but each one brings a fresh wave of concern—whether this year will be colder, whether her fire will be enough to keep the chill at bay.
Her days are quiet, but not lonely. Edith has friends, though they’re just as old and frail as she is. None of them venture out much these days. Every Sunday, without fail, she spends time on the phone with them, catching up on the week’s news, sharing stories, and comforting each other with memories of days gone by. It’s a ritual that keeps her connected, even when physical visits are few and far between.
Thursday is Edith’s day for shopping. It’s a routine she’s stuck to for as long as she can remember. The trip to the local shop is her way of staying in touch with the world outside her home. She enjoys the walk, the crisp air, and most of all, the brief conversations with the shop assistants. She always opts for the manned tills, avoiding the self-service machines that she doesn’t quite understand. Besides, the short exchange of words as she pays is a small but important part of her week. It’s not just about buying groceries—it’s about being seen, being heard, and feeling connected to her community.
Edith’s life is simple, marked by routines and small pleasures. But as winter approaches, her usual sense of contentment is tinged with unease. She’s seen many winters and knows how to manage them, even on a tight budget, but the worry lingers. While others might take warmth for granted, she carefully rations hers, just as she rations her spending. Yet, despite these concerns, Edith finds solace in her little routines, the warmth of two bars on the electric fire, and the sound of familiar voices on the other end of the line.
And while “Edith” isn’t her real name, her story is real, shared by many who face the winter months with a mix of quiet resolve and underlying worry, managing what they have with care, and cherishing the small connections that brighten their days.
