I woke up early in the morning; cold, disoriented, needing
to make a trip to the bathroom and reluctant to go because I couldn’t bear the
thought of climbing out from under the pile of covers on my bed and because of
the dream…a dream where a child was blamed for an adult’s bad behavior and
where I intervened in a rather violent way.
Shocked by my own violence and yet convinced that I had done the right
thing I found myself in a garden – and then awakened to this foggy chill.
At last, throwing back the quilts and sheets I threw my legs
over the side of the bed, fishing for my slippers and dashed across the sloping
hall into the pool of light in my bathroom.
Where shivering with cold I realized it was time to turn the furnace on!
Not even officially autumn and I was going to turn the
furnace on! I knew where the thermostat
was. I had located it the day before
knowing this time was coming, but now was the hour. I shuffled through the living room in slippers aptly named for
the way they carried me and fumbled for the light switch. Turning on the furnace meant knowing which
direction was the word, “Heat.”
Slipping the little lever into that position I turned and
looked for the registers. I have been
pondering which ones might be cold air returns and which might expel that
blessed warmth that comes when winter approaches and the furnace is fired
up. In this old house there are all
sorts of antique grates and grills stashed in odd places, but I remembered one
behind the couch that most certainly would be a heat duct.
Too early to be neat or logical, I simply pulled the couch
away from the wall and revealed that duct, releasing the heat so that it could
flow into the room and not warm the bones of my beautiful red sofa. Then I rushed back to bed and grabbed
Bearnard, pulling him close and pulling the sheets over my head to contain the
warm air of my breath and warm up my icy body.
Several hours later I woke up, warm, alert and past the
trauma of early morning dreams. Then my
day started in earnest.
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