Sitting in a nice warm house it's easy to forget that not so long ago the world was not quite as comfortable. The bite in the air takes me back to a childhood that was not temperature perfect.
Growing up, our house had one large register in the living room wall, and that was it. Close the door to the bedroom and you might just wake up with frosty eyebrows. When the furnace kicked on we would soak up as much heat as possible, almost always cuddled under a throw to watch TV. The room would not have passed muster with Martha Stewart, because it was arranged around that heat vent all winter long. Each evening after school I'd arrive home to the smell of something cooking, the front window steamed and frosted inside from top to bottom. Mom would give me heck for scratching my name in the icy crust.
My grandparents homes were much the same. One house had a big floor register that served as whole house heat, the other had a coal stove in the living room that always sported a tea kettle full of water on top of the red hot fire box. The further you got from the stove or register, the colder the house became, and long sleeved flannel shirts were the order of the day. Beds were layered with hand made quilts and blankets, their weight bearing down and holding you in one position all night.
Visiting at my Great Grandfathers house was also a chilly event. Everyone congregated in the "front room", which was heated by a fireplace. With the door to that room closed, everyone gathered around the fireplace....taking turns standing first facing, and then backed into, the blazing fire. I'd stand there till my skin burned, then flip around to cook the other side. Life back then was less about comfort and more about being together....not a bad thing.
Summer was just the reverse. There was a window fan in my parents bedroom that roared like a Boeing 747 all summer. Assorted smaller table top fans stirred the humid air around in the rest of the house. No air conditioning meant tossing and turning all night with a fan aimed directly at you, providing little more than white noise to block out the street sounds coming through the open windows. Hot weather was a steady assembly line of ice cube trays and Kool Aid mixes.
Ah, but the long, hot, summer was also time of "fine art". Each year the local funeral home in Mom's home town would put a new picture on the fans they passed out to mourners. It was something I looked forward to, seeing what beautiful picture would be on the summer funeral fan. I'm sure DaVinci would have been proud to see his work imprinted on cardboard squares, stapled to the "tongue depressor" handle and used to stir humid air across the ruddy cheeks of the locals. It never occurred to me that someone actually had to die to supply me with this small entertainment.
It didn't happen often, but occasionally the ice cream man came around our neighborhood in the north end of Mansfield. Not the colorful, music spewing truck that tours neighborhoods today....this was the Bloodgoods Ice Cream Company. They paid boys to ride bicycles with coolers of ice cream mounted on the front. These "ice cream rickshaws" went all over town, a row of bells mounted over the cooler, jingling frantically as the boys peddled in the hot summer sun. Definitely not a job that was in danger of being outsourced.
So here we are today, hot house flowers darting from air conditioned car to climate controlled building and back again. Like vampires avoiding the sunlight, we spend our days slathered in greasy sun block, wearing hats the size of hoop skirts and shirts that promise SPF 60 protection. Venture out in anything less and someone is bound to look at you, cluck their tongue and murmur "melanoma".
Those were gentler days, and a great time to grow up. We thought the sun was good for you and winter was supposed to be cold. For both seasons our clothes came from Montgomery Ward, and no one knew anything about Gucci or Coach or Vuitton. We did know that "Fruit of the Loom" went in the back, and if the label was on the outside of your shirt you had it on inside out. Simple.
Yes....I remember being cold. And I remember being hot. And I remember being happy.
Funny how taking a walk on a cold winter day can bring back memories.....
Life is Good.
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