Eric Bergeson’s column on air conditioning last week brought back memories of my experiences with this wonderful, life-saving contraption. I, too, grew up without this luxury, left instead to sweat out the summer with two fans that shuffled from room to room and basically recirculated the hot air. Although the window to my sweltering upstairs bedroom was propped open with a stick or old book from May through October every year, this did nothing to comfort during the day and only on those rare cool evenings, when the breeze came in at just the right angle, did it provide a slight reprieve from the heat and humidity. In fact, that bedroom maintained a temp of near 100 even when it was only 50 outside.
Consequently, many of my summer nights were spent sleeping on the couch in the living room, box fan blowing straight on my face. Once my brother moved out in my mid-teens, it became my regular practice to go down to his basement room sometime during the night and slumber in the somewhat lumpy bed left there. This was not the most comfortable arrangement, mind you, with my acute case of arachnophobia and other bugs generally creeping me out – everyone knows spiders and bugs thrive in basements – but it did provide a slightly better sleeping environment. I simply closed my eyes and tried to block out the thought that hundreds of minute critters were slithering around in my vicinity at any given time. Moisture wasn't a big problem, as the dehumidifier running constantly sucked it all up.
The household eventually expanded its fan collection with the purchase of a window fan for Mom and Dad’s bedroom and one of those cool oscillating ones for the living room, which allowed me to inherit the big box fan for my room. Life was good – well, at least a bit more tolerable.
Then, in my later high school years, the Big Event occurred: my folks acquired a used air conditioner. Life as we knew it had changed forever.
The day Dad and my brother lugged that monstrous but wonderful piece of machinery into the living room and placed it into the window opening (after an excruciatingly long obscenity-laden session) was the greatest in my young life up to that point. A half hour after the switch was turned on, I was in heaven, especially since the outside world harbored much negative weather vibes.
From then on, my summers at home were spent cooped up in the living room, shades pulled down and door to the kitchen closed tight. I absolutely dreaded leaving that room to take care of whatever business was necessary in another part of the house. How, pray tell, did we ever get along without this?
That used air conditioner managed to survive the trip in and out of the shed for a dozen or so years. It was still operational when I inherited it 18 years ago, but unfortunately, never got the chance to work its magic in my own place. That's because Hubby and I, while attempting to install the 60-lb. monstrosity ourselves, promptly smashed onto the ground. The poor thing, whose age was probably the equivalent to a nonagenarian in human years, just couldn't take the four-foot fall; it was irrevocably dead.
This forced our hand to purchase a brand new and obviously more energy-efficient unit. All we could afford, though, was a small, 5,000-BTU one, but it somewhat satisfied our needs. Used in conjunction with the oscillating fan I also inherited, some of the cool air even managed to make it from the dining to living room in our small rental house.
We found this unit to be sadly inadequate, though, once we moved into our own much larger home. It would only fit into one of the main floor windows, in a room we never spent time in. Even with the fan drawing the cool air out and dark coverings on our many windows, only a trickle of relief was felt in the living room and none in all the others. The air upstairs, where the bedrooms are located, was particularly dead. On really miserable nights, the kid(s) ended up sleeping in our room, which housed Mom's window fan.
My third pregnancy brought on even more than the obvious lifestyle change, as apprehension of my first summer with child grew along with my belly. Although the farmer in Hubby made him quite adept at handling heat and humidity, dealing with an extremely moody, feisty and unpredictable pregnant wife whose troubles were exponentially compounded with each rising degree of the heat index was far out of his realm. So, thanks to my precious Gabi, I got my longtime wish for central air that spring 14 years ago.
Central air is the epitome of summer refreshment, keeping the whole house – the main floor, anyway – cool and comfortable. While fresh air is always the most desirable, there's nothing fresh about 80 degrees with 80 percent humidity, so when the weather is like it's often been this summer, you'll find me basking in the coolness of my home, where everyone who enters comments on how nice and cool it feels. Never mind that our electric bill is twice as high as it is in January; at least the gas bill is low.
Ah, life is good.
