Last summer, one of my long term grown-up dreams came true. We installed a whole house fan.
For years, I had the fan on my wishlist, but it was expensive. So summer after summer, we used window AC units and fans. They cooled part of the house, but never the whole thing.
Our upstairs wiring could only tolerate one AC unit, which left the master bedroom an icebox, but the other bedrooms too hot. The hot air would move around as the fans blew, but it wouldn’t leave. There were nights when you could stick your arm out the window and feel the cool air, but it refused to come in the house, probably because of science.
At night it was musical beds and floors trying to get everyone to a spot cool enough for sleep. (Strangely, my kids have been unimpressed with the technique I used to keep cool on hot summer nights as a child – sleeping with a cold, wet washcloth draped over me).
In the air conditioned master bedroom, I would wake up freezing and congested in the middle of an August night. I freeze all winter, because I’m a frugal lady who keeps the thermostat on the lowest temperature I can tolerate. But freezing in the summer didn’t feel right.
These days, I’m missing respite.
We live several hours from our nearest relatives and have a spotty social network in our area (life is busy, and it’s hard to make new friends post-college), so each time we added to our family, it was with the assumption we’d be doing the parenting by ourselves.
Mostly, we have. The Chaplain and I figured out how to ask each other for what we needed to keep our tanks from running empty, and we made it work. That was when I had out-of-the-house activities a couple of times a week, and so did the Chaplain. Those out-of-the-house options narrowed to one during the pandemic: The Long, Solitary Walk.
If it had to be just one thing, the Long Solitary Walk is the best. But there comes a time in an introvert’s life when she just wants to be home alone. And when everyone has to stay home all the time, that just isn’t happening.
Last week, the Chaplain came home, saw my face, and offered to take the kids to the pool and leave me home.
It may have been my first time home alone since lockdown started.
We were drawing close to the end of our trip. After a day at Seven Mile Beach and Stingray City, we went to the little beach where we’d been going for our morning sea baths to watch the sunset together our last night on the island.
We both brought our reading material, and it was sublime.
After a few days on Grand Cayman, I was starting to get a feel for the place. It was very civilized, but it felt a bit forced. I’d seen only one other interracial couple since we’d been there. Portraits of the Queen and Prince Charles hung at the airport. I’d made a joke about tea time one day only to have one of the Chaplain’s friends casually mention meeting someone for tea the next day.
My third read by Richard Rohr was Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life. It came to me at around the same time as Rowing Upstream, by Mary Pipher, and as they both dealt with aging, I wanted to combine them into one post.
What did they have to offer?
