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It was wintry cold last night, and when Father said that he was done with the big room, as I started getting ready to shift for my late-night reading session, I was wondering if he might take issue with my opening the window in the big room to air it out. Although the central heating system was not on, Father had his little portable heater running in his room, and you cannot be sure what will get him excited. Remember, he thinks it is the end of the world if you use the clothes dryer when the air-conditioner is on.
As I was reflecting upon this, I remembered when Mother and I had a little heated face-off on a similar matter. There was a time when she liked to keep the heater set pretty high, and since I would find the air to be a little suffocating, especially during the night when I am trying to sleep, I would crack open my window, with the central heating system running. Apparently, this was not such a well-kept secret on my part.
As a matter of fact, that was one of the battles that I actually won, a rare victory, as she would stop running the heater full blast. Though, at the time, I did not know why she changed her ways, and I took it for a happy coincidence. It was during yet another little face-off, this time over the kitchen’s sliding-glass door, that I learned the truth.
She would keep that sliding door closed on spring and autumn evenings, when we could really use the cooler air, but leave it wide open on the coldest winter nights. I believe it was on an early-spring evening that I confronted her about this seemingly perverse practice, just asking her what is in her mind when she does this. With my foot fairly set in the trap, she unloaded about my cracking open my window when she would put the heater on, catching me entirely off-balance and dumbstruck with the unlikely association. Apparently, not only did she know, but it obviously upset her a good deal.
And now, only now, do I put two and two together. Father has complained for years, since Mother died, that his bedroom is horribly cold in the winter, even with the heater on. Now I am finally able to see that this is the problem that Mother was addressing by setting the heater so high, cooking up the rest of the house a bit in order to get her bedroom comfortable for her sleep.
I am able to feel more sympathy for her now, but it is too bad that she did not try using a portable heater. It’s not like they were unknown to her. That is what we used when Jack and I were small kids, but I guess we had no choice then when we were much poorer, whereas there is some understanding that these little heaters are dangerous. Father would refuse this option point blank when I suggested it to him repeatedly, that is, until Lorie was able to get him to see the light and to embrace the cozy warmth.
As I was reflecting upon this, I remembered when Mother and I had a little heated face-off on a similar matter. There was a time when she liked to keep the heater set pretty high, and since I would find the air to be a little suffocating, especially during the night when I am trying to sleep, I would crack open my window, with the central heating system running. Apparently, this was not such a well-kept secret on my part.
As a matter of fact, that was one of the battles that I actually won, a rare victory, as she would stop running the heater full blast. Though, at the time, I did not know why she changed her ways, and I took it for a happy coincidence. It was during yet another little face-off, this time over the kitchen’s sliding-glass door, that I learned the truth.
She would keep that sliding door closed on spring and autumn evenings, when we could really use the cooler air, but leave it wide open on the coldest winter nights. I believe it was on an early-spring evening that I confronted her about this seemingly perverse practice, just asking her what is in her mind when she does this. With my foot fairly set in the trap, she unloaded about my cracking open my window when she would put the heater on, catching me entirely off-balance and dumbstruck with the unlikely association. Apparently, not only did she know, but it obviously upset her a good deal.
And now, only now, do I put two and two together. Father has complained for years, since Mother died, that his bedroom is horribly cold in the winter, even with the heater on. Now I am finally able to see that this is the problem that Mother was addressing by setting the heater so high, cooking up the rest of the house a bit in order to get her bedroom comfortable for her sleep.
I am able to feel more sympathy for her now, but it is too bad that she did not try using a portable heater. It’s not like they were unknown to her. That is what we used when Jack and I were small kids, but I guess we had no choice then when we were much poorer, whereas there is some understanding that these little heaters are dangerous. Father would refuse this option point blank when I suggested it to him repeatedly, that is, until Lorie was able to get him to see the light and to embrace the cozy warmth.
