“Why is it 65 degrees in here?” At three degrees under the minimum temperature on the thermostat, the question uttered by Dave wasn’t just a query. It felt like a threat.
You see, about two years ago, right around this chilly time, our heat pump stopped. The still-valid warranty was a financial relief, but dealing with unskilled and unresponsive workers it turned into a nightmare. Three months of winter with a house too cold, visible breath, and space heaters to keep us afloat became a sad joke from family and friends, “Have you fixed your heater yet?”
Two glances out the window showed the fan not spinning and something odd on the thermostat – a countdown from two minutes. As if rubbing our hands together and feeling a fire, we pressed our palms to the vents. Cool, our biggest fear.
I tried distracting myself, calming down, not wanting to jump to conclusions. An “oh, no” price tag came to mind. Without the protection of the warranty, it would drain our bank account for sure. I saw the new unit burning thousands upon thousands of green bills in a bonfire.
Speaking of bonfires, my first kegger was up in the hills on a logging road, on the way to Mount Rainier at a place called the “power lines.” An ingenious name that referred to a large open spot, directly under – you guessed it – some power lines. I believe that was my first high school party, and after two beers and seeing a string of lights in the sky everyone thought were aliens, I headed home. Not drunk, but feeling funny, I had my passenger, a similarly straight-A student, keep an eye on the “Speed-o-Meter” for me. Never did we laugh so hard at my inability to come up with the word “speedometer.”
Back to what I was saying. Another hit of panic led to my mind’s eye searching the house for space heaters. But before I went too deep into my fear, I gave it one last try, waving my hand over the register to test the air. Oh sweet heavens it was warm! Disaster averted.
Football hasn’t been on my radar, but due to our subscription to YouTube TV, and live TV now available, I’m all about it. But watching the Washington Huskies is painful. Ever since tuning in, the 12-0 Dawgs have been scored on and given up interceptions and fumbles to the 11-1 Ducks.
Down by three. One quarter to go.
How much do I care about the downtown Christmas parade tomorrow? I suppose it depends on whether the 50% chance of showers comes true or not.
A major bonus is Evelyn’s Grandma and Papa will be picking her up at noon, leaving Dave and me to stare each other down and try to conjure who we once were, before parenthood. Truth be told, we’re dang good at it. Whether it be going to a concert, a comedy show, or a meal out, we enjoy each other’s company and sharing time.
Alright, time to tune into the final quarter. Go Dawgs!
Love, Jaclynn
Free Chilly Willy
Going On 40 