To honour the winter snow this morning, I donned my father's sweater, the one he wore in his passport photo in 1960 when we emigrated to Canada. It's wool, in checkered black and white. The label says "Product of Norway" but my dad was a Yorkshire farmer. After my mother died, my daughter Sarah saved the sweater and sewed patches on the ragged elbows for me. I'm sure you'll understand when I say it's still warm.