The first house we bought was in a warm climate. I'd never had a fireplace before. Mr. Maryn, the sweetheart, would turn on the AC to make a fire tolerable, because I liked them so much. Not all the time or anything, but that first year in the house, way before it was ever even chilly.
I used to envision myself writing (by hand!) next to that fireplace, a glass of wine in my hand (which makes for terrible writing, for me anyway). Oddly enough, I was thinner, dressed pretty cool, and wearing makeup, even though I was alone.
Maryn, who still lives in a fantasyland