The warmth within
The temperature outside had dropped considerably, and as I wondered around the house the other night, I thought about adjusting the thermostat to offset the chill. I was cold, even though the thermostat said the temperature inside was adequate. I was torn between my cold hands and nose and sending more $$$ up the chimney. Frugality won again, and I put on another sweatshirt and wrapped a down-filled throw around me.
I’m not sure when the cold really started to have an effect on me. After all, it wasn’t that long ago when I lived in a drafty old farmhouse — a place where a fire-breathing monster in the cellar (otherwise known as the coal-eating furnace) attempted to send warm air through a couple of registers strategically placed in a couple of rooms in the house. It was the same house where a brutal north wind could cause the curtains to move ever so gently in the living room — another sure sign winter was trying to invade our home.
As I think back, I’m fairly certain most farmhouses back then weren’t any more energy efficient than the one I grew up in. Those old farmhouses were cold in the winter, and they were hot in the summer. Screen doors, box fans and porches helped you get through the summer, and flannel pajamas, something baking in the oven or cooking on top of the stove, and a pushing match with the other kids in the house to garner space on the register got you through the winter.
Even though there was no thermostat on my wall back then, I know the temperature inside that old farmhouse was considerably less than what my thermostat says in my home today. It wasn’t about pushing a button on the wall to get more heat ... it was more like tromping down the stairs and heaving another giant shovel filled with coal into the fire-breathing monster’s mouth. Wow! I am really old.
Maybe my youthful metabolism was running quite a bit higher back then, but the idea of a cold farmhouse really didn’t phase me that much. In fact, as I think back, the whole concept of living in that chilly structure is rather endearing, especially when I think of all the things that less-than-temperate house created.
I remember being a very little girl and standing on the register with my grandma. Early in the morning or late at night — each of us trying to steal some warm air, she’d untie her blue, fluffy bathrobe and wrap it around me too. Together we’d stand inside her bathrobe, as the warm air from the register attempted to erase the chill. Just as important, those standing-on-the-register moments generated lots of Grandma-to-granddaughter conversations, some giggles, some memorable times.
Grandma also helped take the chill out of the air by stirring up a big pot of homemade soup and baking homemade bread. There was always a noticeable difference between the temperature in the kitchen and the rest of the house, so a pot of soup on the stove that eventually warmed our bellies was a good deal. On top of that, we all congregated in the kitchen where conversation and laughter were abundant ... more memories made.
Cold winter nights were spent playing board games or a game of cards at the dining room table. We’d read together, laugh together, play together. A cold house wasn’t even part of the equation; we didn’t even notice. When it was almost bedtime and right before I’d climb in on those cold, frigid sheets, I’d cuddle up with Grandpa in his recliner. With a blanket thrown over us, we’d both fall off to sleep ... warm, toasty and completely content.
That old farmhouse was probably as cold a place as I ever lived, but the warmth inside didn’t have a thing to do with the temperature. May our homes today be just as warm ...
BCR Editor Terri Simon can be reached at tsimon@bcrnews.com. You can also follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/bcrnews.tsimon.
