I haven’t posted since returning from the Pennwriters Conference (which was great, btw) because I’ve been busy catching up on my non-writing life, the mundane parts of which include bathing bulldog Lucy every three days to combat a nasty skin condition (more on that later) and trying to regulate the temperature in our house during what I’ve dubbed Spring Swing.
I don’t know about other households, but in mine all HVAC matters fall under my domain. I am not exagerrating when I say that if we (and by “we” I mean “I”) put a call into our HVAC guy Bob reporting a problem, when he calls back if my husband answers Bob will instruct him to put me on the phone. Then he talks me through trying this and that maneuver to see if I can fix it without a service visit. Mind you, I’m not complaining. Brian’s domain has many responsibilities I wouldn’t want, such as disposing of the groundhog that Lucy killed and the dragged through the dog door and left in my office. My point is just that HVAC matters fall to me to deal with. And you wouldn’t think it’d be that difficult.
But night temperatures dip down below 40 degrees, daytime highs hit near 90. In the morning, before leaving the house I stand in front of the thermostat trying to decide: Flip the furnace off even though it’s still cold? Set the air-conditioner to come on when it hits 75? We’re not talking summer swelter yet so the air conditioner seems a bit wasteful, but it’s certainly too cool to leave a window open in the morning. And without some form of cooling, by the time I return in the late afternoon the house will be stifling (and the dogs panting). So air conditioning it is. I’d like to turn off the air at night and leave the windows open when we go to bed, but inevitably by morning we’re shivering and I have to turn on the heat. And the vicious cycle starts all over.
