I don’t heat my bedroom for two reasons. I sleep better, for one, and two, it saves a bit on the fuel oil. At least, I tell myself that.

But this just past Arctic blast called February reminded me that I had not dug out my bed-socks this winter. Rather, my cold feet reminded me.

I wrote about bed-socks a few years ago. I sleep in a cocoon of blankets: a cotton "thermal" one, a quilt my niece made for me and a down comforter, topped off with a bunny-soft throw my daughter brought me. I use sheets and blankets a size or two bigger than the bed. That gives me extra for pulling up high over my shoulders and hangs over the sides long enough to keep out stray cold. Last of all, I pull the soft throw up around my head, leaving a breathing hole, and off to sleep I go.

But this month, my feet reminded me of why I should find my bed-socks. Nothing like cold feet to wake one up. It also reminded me that feet get cold because of poor circulation. One reason for your hands and/or feet losing some circulation is that the body senses the more vital parts of your body need warmth and sends extra blood up to the core area.

I couldn’t find my bed-socks. This means, probably, that I packed them away in a "safe, easy to find" spot. Which means I probably won’t see them until I run across them accidentally while hunting for something else, probably in July. (I do not wear my regular socks for bed-socks. I’ll explain later.)

Back when I first started the bed-socks routine, I couldn’t find any articles about it, yea or nay. Now YouTube is afloat with advice, mostly from doctors with advice on “Sleeping With Socks On Good Or Bad?” One article even advises going to bed in wet socks.

That’s a step too far for me. But I remember when lobstermen used to wear heavy wool mittens on the boat and before putting them on would plunge them into the water, wring them out and then put them on. The mittens were knitted with raw wool, meaning that the natural lanolin had not been washed out. They were knitted larger than the hand and then shrunk – or felted – in hot water. This made them thicker woven. Couple that with wool's propensity to hold in body heat – I guess that’s why sheep wear it – even when wet, and the lobstermen's hands fared well. (Woodsmen also wore the oversize, shrunk-down white wool socks. I remember my Maine Guide, Grampa Roy, wearing them. Grammie Mable knitted his, but more often than not, the men would knit them and sell them for some extra money.

Indeed, when I moved back home t’Maine after decades of living everywhere else across the country, I went up home to visit my favorite cousin, a guide, Cousin Berle. He was knitting these socks. At 6 feet, 4 inches, no one ever chided him about it.

I've been doing this in winter for years – even wrote one of my columns on it way back. Even have"'special socks" for it. I call them simply "my bed-socks." Bed-socks should, preferably, not be just your regular sock. They should be a couple or more sizes larger than day socks and 100% wool. Two reasons for this. No restriction. You don't even feel like you have them on. And it follows the old "Dutchman's britches" pattern that preserves body heat for more warmth. (Remember the little Dutch boy with his roomy "britches," instead of the pants we wear today, especially females with leggings that are so tight they look like they're painted on?)

When there's room for air space between the skin and the fabric, the space holds in a layer of body heat, unlike the tight pants that hold the cold straight onto your leg. Indeed, in Denmark, women don't wear pantyhose in the winter, as they freeze to the skin.

Back to "bed-socks." For me, in winter, if I go to bed and my feet are all but blue-cold, it's uncomfortable and I have a harder time getting to sleep. But warming them with bed-socks helps me drift right off. Scientific studies estimate that you get to sleep 15 minutes faster. They also claim you live longer. I’ll let you know how that turns out.

I don’t know which studies or therapies or explanations are right or better or none of the above. I just know it works for me. Life is easier if we don’t overthink a thing to death.

Oh, I never did find my “packed away safely” bed-socks. But I came across my legwarmers. They are roomier than socks. So I closed up one end using large running stitches and then pulling them tight to close one end and tied it off.

Voila. Perfect bed-socks, and they double as slop-around-the-house slippers.

Marion Tucker-Honeycutt, an award-winning columnist, a Maine native and graduate of Belfast schools, now lives in Morrill. Her columns appear in this paper every other week.