Heat

On Saturday I took my living-room air conditioner out.

On Sunday, I woke up and it was 64 in the house. Hello, fall!

I didn't turn on the heat on Sunday. It seemed too fast. I mean, air conditioner! In my window, the day before! It had been in the high 70s the previous week. Yes, it's technically October, but -- I wore flip-flops to work on Friday!

So I sat under a blanket while I ate my breakfast, I wore a bunch of layers, I took out the window fan in the dining room so I could shut that window. I opened all the shades in hopes the sun would warm up the house. It did, a little, but it was a kind of cloudy day. When I was moving around I was fine. When I wasn't, I'd bust out the blanket. I wore socks.

This morning, I woke up and the house was 63. It's supposed to be cloudy for most of the week, it's not supposed to go above 64 before Friday, and I had to take a shower. So I turned on the heat. I only had it on for about half an hour, and then I turned it back off once the house was comfy.

Why am I rationalizing it? Because I'm a New Englander. And being miserly about the heat is our way. People will get into these contests about how long they can go without turning on the heat. I used to do this too, or at least feel guilty if I didn't get at least past the middle of October without caving.

But then one time I read a Boston.com (really, Globe, but I haven't read a paper Globe in, oh, one million years or so) article about this phenomenon, and in the comments -- always a pleasant garden of courteous, friendly fun, the Boston.com comments -- there were people talking about November, December; about wearing coats inside; about giving their kids a whole bunch of blankets. Someone said he didn't touch the heat until it was below 55 in the house. It was around the time someone mentioned his BABY that I thought, you know what? This is IDIOTIC. Saving money and energy is ALL well and good. But we don't live in treehouses or sheds. I'm not saying we should crank it up to 80 and prance around the house in a bathing suit. But, I'm sorry, I'm not letting the house get down to 55. I'm not wearing a down coat, hat, and mittens inside. I have things to do, man. And I sure as HELL would not let it get that cold if I had a BABY.

Now, I'm not talking about people who can't AFFORD heat and literally have to choose between eating or not wearing outdoor clothes indoors. I'm talking about Yankee cheapskates whose main reason for holding off on the heat is for bragging rights, or to win some made-up competition, like in A Christmas Story when the dad has this ongoing contest with himself for how quickly he can change a tire. I mean, do what you want! But I'm out.

I layer quite a bit in the winter, including scarves if necessary. I'm pretty anal about turning off lights. I recycle. I can get slightly psychotic about reusing napkins and plates (I'm not averse to, if I have a bagel for breakfast, brushing the crumbs off that plate and using it for a sandwich at lunch). I wash my clothes in cold water. The highest I ever turn up the heat is 70, for an hour or so in the morning when I'm getting out of bed; the rest of the time (when I'm home, and awake) it's at 68. And, of course, I save plenty of energy in the summer, since it wouldn't even occur to me to wish for air conditioning until it hits 82 or so. I broke down and bought two window units this summer, as I've mentioned, but I didn't use them all that much. It was a hell of a summer, so I can't say I was sorry to have them, but it's the first year I've really felt I needed them.

See, still justifying. I can't help it. It's in my blood.

Anyway. I turned the heat on this morning. And then I got dressed in contentment instead of feeling like I had to curl up in the fetal position under the blanket when I got out of the shower. It's off now, but if it's freezing in the house when I get home, I might turn it on again. And I might turn it on tomorrow morning too. And if it stays chilly, I might LEAVE it on, EVEN THOUGH it's only early October. Because heat is there to heat you, not to prove what a tough old bastard you are. And I don't like being miserable. Sooooo theeeeere.