A warm memory of a bitter winter
My Peace Corps journal for Feb. 5, 1968, is a warm memory of a frozen day. I lived with a Korean family who spoke no English, and our house was a modest one-level, L-shaped structure with an outhouse and no electricity. A pump in the courtyard provided water for cooking and washing. In winter, it was often necessary to chip ice from the metal bucket. Bathing lost urgency. I dreamed of hot showers,
