A Hot House
Betty says she has
fibromyalgia.
Also,
Betty suffers from
cold feet.
It's genetic,
her cold feet.
Nothing can warm them.
Even so,
the warmer the house,
the better for Betty.
Even in August.
Even when the temperature
outside
hits the high nineties.
In winter,
a hot house is
not so much an issue,
not for me.
I'll go around
in a loose T-shirt,
thin shorts,
and bare feet.
And,
when I'm in my room,
I'll throw open a window.
But that’s in winter.
In summer,
by the time the
outdoor air
heats up to eighty,
I
NEED
AC.
But Betty will complain.
Pop’ll complain, too;
not because he's cold,
but because the AC
costs
money
to run.
Not that times are tight.
Pop knows
when the AC
condenser's
running.
It blows the backyard bushes.
Using the furnace
costs money,
too.
Only Pop can't tell when it's on.
He can't even hear it.
He could wave a hand
over a vent,
but that
takes too much
effort.
Mind,
if Betty
PREFERRED
the AC
to the furnace,
you wouldn't hear a peep,
not from Pop.
But then there’s this:
Pop grew up
during
the Great Depression.
Hencethus,
the fewer things
left "on"
the better.
And like
many
of Pop’s
contemporaries,
he’d rather stumble
or even crawl
through dark a room
than turn on
a damned light.
April 24, 2004