The cocoon of terror
Back when I was growing up on New England I lived for the fall and the winter. In the summertime my mom would set up elaborate cooling systems in our home, but dad never wanted to get central air. Mom wanted it, we wanted it but Dad grew up on a farm and saw little use in wasting money on something as silly as central air conditioning. So, yeah…I generally welcomed the cooler weather. That is until it actually came around. See, Daddy had this ‘thing’ about us even looking at the thermostat. We had a fireplace in the family room. He felt that it would be enough to supplement the heating system.
He was wrong. To my mind, that fireplace was ornamental. I could be wrong, but there are no warm memories coming from that hearth. Dad had our thermostat set to ‘just below freezing’.
At one point, I had ice crystals forming on the INSIDE of my window.
I couldn’t understand it. We were living in the lap of luxury but my father was the heat miser.
Really, the guy had a paranoia about the thermostat.
Mom would turn it up to toast the house up before he got home and then scurry around about a half an hour before he arrived at our door. He would always smile as he looked at the temperature and say, ‘See? It’s working like a charm. Any of you cold?’ He never waited for the answer. We would bundle up in sweaters. I think I learned to knit just so I could have something warm on my lap.
I really wish there had been ventless garage heaters of some worth back then. I would have stayed out there in comfort when I was helping my brother work on his Camaro.
Instead, we all went to sleep in what my friend Magoo calls ‘the cocoon of terror’. You know, you wrap yourself up in your bedding like a mummy. We call it cocooning.
Yeah, a groovy space heater would have helped us all out, but then again…I am virtually impervious to cold now.
September 22nd, 2007 at 10:52 pm
Proper cocooning is a subtle and lovely art.