Who touched the thermostat?

Last night Christian stood in my living room in his overcoat and complained, “These are my winter clothes.” Then he added, “But I haven’t turned on the heat.”

Texans will brag about a lot of things, but one is heat and air conditioning. It seems to be a point of pride to hold out as long as possible before turning on the a/c on in the spring or the heat in the fall. And turn the heat on in May when it should be warm? Perish the thought. It would show weakness.

I had, as I mentioned, turned the heat on in my cottage the night before. The low that night was fifty, and I saw no sense in being miserably cold. When I asked Christian why he hadn’t turned it on in the house, he grinned as though it suddenly dawned on him and said, “I don’t know.”

Tonight my ceiling-mounted units—I forget what they’re called? Ductless?—are still set on heat. Jordan came in, threw open the door, grabbed the remote, and said, “We need a little air stirring.” I told her, quite calmly, that the heat was on and if she’d just turn the unit off all would be well. When she disappears I’ll turn it back on. It’s a constant battle between us—I swear she has Mediterranean blood and is always too warm; my thin Scottish blood make me sensitive to cold.

But when I went into the house for supper, the a/c was on full blast. “It was stuffy,” Christian explained. Maybe so, but it was also chillingly cold. He turned it off for supper.

I suppose that holding off on regulating our temperatures is environmentally sound because it uses less resources. But I don’t think that’s why most people do it.

Apparently, the same logic—or lack thereof—doesn’t apply to cars. It has been chilly again today, and Christian reported that he and Jacob were running errands and it was cold enough he turned on the heater in the car. Then the sun came out and things heated up, and he switched to a/c. Then black clouds rolled in, and he went back to heat. How spoiled are we?

I’ve been doing some research on life in North Texas at the turn of the 19^th century—their method of air conditioning was to put lots of windows in a house and try to capture a cross breeze. Heat was from fireplaces, although many burned coal—think how dirty that was—rather than wood and were later converted to gas.

The a/c makes me think of my mom. We had a window unit in an upstairs bedroom in our house in Chicago where summers could be stifling. Mom would open the house to the early breezes in the morning. Then at the first hint of heat, she’d pull all the blinds until the house was dark. That one lone unit went on, with the theory that cold air falls and it would send air shooting down the staircase to the first floor where we had our living and dining rooms and kitchen. The other bedrooms upstairs—my parents’ and mine—got no benefit. But come dusk, Mom opened up the house again.

Tonight my friend Subie was coming for dinner, and Jordan and I combined to create a great meal. Subie called at the last minute to say she had been struck by a sudden stomach malady, so we dined on plentiful portions of hamburger Stroganoff (my morning occupation) with noodles, green salad, broccoli for Jacob who adores it. Jordan really wanted cheesecake. Her argument was that she doesn’t often, if ever, eat dessert, but for Mother’s Day she wanted cheesecake. Last I heard they were going to Braum’s to fulfill her wish. I retreated to the cottage.

Happy Mother’s Day to all. It doesn’t take giving birth to be a mother. I am an adoptive mother but no less fierce about my children than biological mothers, and I know countless childless women who have done more mothering of nieces, nephews, and strays than those of us who raised children. Love is what makes a mother. May all such women be recognized with love tomorrow.