askyermom

We’re entering our first chilly season with a new heating system. Before my ancient HVAC system collapsed on itself the energy bills were shockingly high. The old wheezy furnace burned gas with a frightening thump that was followed by a sigh of warm air through the whole house. It was almost worth the extra cost to have that powerful instant gratification. I felt like I had a clever old machine that lowered a blow torch on a fire pit; whoosh, blam, warm.

Every plumber or appliance person who stopped by would warn me that the furnace and air conditioner were on the verge of irreparable failure. I knew. I knew when I bought the house that the HVAC system was its Achilles heel. It also had a water heater that was it’s Achilles elbow, and evidence of mouse society that qualifies as its Achilles colon. Ew. Whatever. The point being I was aware of the expensive repair this house was begging to get, so I was ready.

It behooved all the repair people to warn me, although why the exterminator weighed in I’ll never know. For the plumbing types, this would be a good payday. Four different companies assessed my situation and I ended up hiring the one who had been kindest. He never made fun of me or the house, even when we deserved it. He did exactly what he said he would do and quoted me a little bit less than the obvious-choice company.

The power company emails charts to tell me that I am not keeping up with the most energy efficient neighbors. It’s not apples to apples, since my apple is at the end of a group and has hectic insulation and extra windows. My apple needs a lot of juice to keep comfortable.

We got the idea we have a right to be comfortable all the time. Sleeveless living seems decadent when it’s freezing outside because it is decadent. Shouldn’t we be cold when it’s cold outside?

If I really want to experience the weather, I can just take the dog out. This is not a small reason to have a dog. Sure, companionship is nice and slobber in your house is festive, but being forced to squint into the driving rain once in a while is a tremendous reality check. I might have reconsidered the whole dog project had I remembered the ritual of picking up poop in the dark of winter. Tofu can’t be bothered to crap under streetlights and if I stayed under the lights too much, one of my neighbors would certainly have me arrested as a witch. They are nervous about malingerers.

Anyway, weather is real and since it’s real we should experience it, I guess.

Many years ago, I went to a gathering at Crystal City. It was a very expensive experiment in urban design in which one could work and live entirely underground. This was the full surrender to car culture. Let the cars have the ground level and put the people somewhere else. Once in the retail caverns, you could imagine it was any time of day or that you were under a scorching desert where people only played golf in the dark. You could be on the moon of some other planet or on the set of a science fiction film with no budget for cacti. The air was always comfortably stale and the time of day relayed only by devices.

Some group was awarded the massive project of redesigning this very specific design, which is the greatest repudiation of a city grown on purpose. I believe it could be called an architectural failure to thrive. Some places never had a heyday, more of a heywhat.

Climate control used to be more about not dying than not being at one’s optimum temperature. I know I have judged harshly when winter people wore indoor wool and kept the thermostat at survival levels. Some of these folks would have a cold plunge and authentic firewood storage and artisanal matches that are too expensive to use for regular company. The chilly wool was not an economic move so much as a statement of stoicism.

I don’t know that it’s more honest to experience the weather, especially when it’s dangerous. Getting a lungful of fresh air isn’t always possible and courting hypothermia indoors is not especially noble. I just try to be grateful for the option. I could thank my warm boots and praise my thermostat and enjoy the way I remain ignorant of weaving and knitting. Mostly I just take a moment to imagine having nothing but a cave and some gumption.

We can be very grateful that gratitude is free.

Love,
yermom

This is the place where I link to book info (4.3 stars! better than good!) and book status info which needs an update of its own. Don’t Eat Your Children might cross the finish line in 2023, but Harlot’s Last Laugh definitely will not. I’m sorry about that. It’s a full time job having my full time job these days.

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