The Way I See It - A degree of comfort
The Way I See It
By Doug Dickerson
Staff Writer
January 31, 2007
A degree of comfort
When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure. -Alice Hoffman
The recent cold snap has rekindled the thermostat wars in our house. I would dare say some of you reading my column this week fight the same battle and I feel your pain.
I was introduced to this phenomenon as a young boy observing my mother. As I recall, mother always seemed to have about a one- or two-degree variance in her comfort level. If the temperature varied one or two degrees in either direction, she was either burning up or freezing, and adjustments were made accordingly.
On a family camping trip out west one summer, we pitched our tent a few miles from Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. The plan was to go see Old Faithful. However, on an icy first day of summer, we packed up our gear and headed south. My mother made a promise that as long as she lived, she would never again complain about being hot. A few days later as we visited the Grand Canyon, and drove through the plains of Arizona, the temperature was a steamy 100 degrees, and my mother broke her promise. Reminding her of that promise served no purpose, she was hot — end of story.
As fate would have it, I am a hot box. One sheet on the bed in the summer or winter is more than enough for me. If I were single and living alone that would not be a problem, but the three females in the house have a voice and vote at the thermostat. One cold night not too long ago, I woke up sweating like a pig invited to a barbecue. In my groggy stupor my first thought was perhaps I was sick and running a fever. The thermostat prior to going to bed was, by my standards, set to a comfortable level. Soon I realized that I was not sick but that the heat was blazing hard enough to identify our house as source of global warming.
There are times when I observe them huddled up in blankets and robes, and wonder if I am being a horrible husband or father, allowing them to suffer like that. Yet when I walk down the hall to see the thermostat set close to 80 degrees, I know that the CEO at the electric company is going to get a nice Christmas bonus thanks to them, so the battle rages on.
A person’s comfort level is subjective and reminds me of the story about the man from Chicago who dies and goes to hell.
When he gets there, the devil comes over to welcome him. The devil then says, “It sometimes gets pretty uncomfortable down here.” The man says, “No problem. I’m from Chicago.”
The devil goes over to the thermostat, turns the thermostat up to 100 and the humidity up to 80. He then goes back to the Chicago man to see how he’s doing. To the devil’s surprise, the man is doing just fine. “No problem…just like Chicago in June,” the man says.
The devil goes back over to the thermostat, and turns the temperature up to 150, and the humidity up to 90. He then goes back over to see how the Chicago man is doing. The man is sweating a little, but overall looks comfortable. “No problem. Just like Chicago in July,” the man says.
So now the devil goes over to the thermostat, turns the temperature up to 200, and the humidity up to 100. When he goes back to see how the man is doing, the man is sweating profusely, and has taken his shirt off. Otherwise, he seems fine. He says, “No problem. Just like Chicago in August.”
The devil is perplexed now. He goes back to the thermostat, and turns the temperature down to minus 150 degrees. Immediately, all the humidity in the air freezes up, and the whole place becomes a frigid, barren, frozen, deadly wasteland.
When he goes back now to see how the Chicago man is doing, he is shocked to discover the man is jumping up and down, cheering in obvious delight. The devil immediately asks the man what is going on. To which the Chicago man replies…”The Cubs won the World Series! The Cubs won the World Series!”
©Summerville Journal-Scene 2007
By Doug Dickerson
Staff Writer
January 31, 2007
A degree of comfort
When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure. -Alice Hoffman
The recent cold snap has rekindled the thermostat wars in our house. I would dare say some of you reading my column this week fight the same battle and I feel your pain.
I was introduced to this phenomenon as a young boy observing my mother. As I recall, mother always seemed to have about a one- or two-degree variance in her comfort level. If the temperature varied one or two degrees in either direction, she was either burning up or freezing, and adjustments were made accordingly.
On a family camping trip out west one summer, we pitched our tent a few miles from Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. The plan was to go see Old Faithful. However, on an icy first day of summer, we packed up our gear and headed south. My mother made a promise that as long as she lived, she would never again complain about being hot. A few days later as we visited the Grand Canyon, and drove through the plains of Arizona, the temperature was a steamy 100 degrees, and my mother broke her promise. Reminding her of that promise served no purpose, she was hot — end of story.
As fate would have it, I am a hot box. One sheet on the bed in the summer or winter is more than enough for me. If I were single and living alone that would not be a problem, but the three females in the house have a voice and vote at the thermostat. One cold night not too long ago, I woke up sweating like a pig invited to a barbecue. In my groggy stupor my first thought was perhaps I was sick and running a fever. The thermostat prior to going to bed was, by my standards, set to a comfortable level. Soon I realized that I was not sick but that the heat was blazing hard enough to identify our house as source of global warming.
There are times when I observe them huddled up in blankets and robes, and wonder if I am being a horrible husband or father, allowing them to suffer like that. Yet when I walk down the hall to see the thermostat set close to 80 degrees, I know that the CEO at the electric company is going to get a nice Christmas bonus thanks to them, so the battle rages on.
A person’s comfort level is subjective and reminds me of the story about the man from Chicago who dies and goes to hell.
When he gets there, the devil comes over to welcome him. The devil then says, “It sometimes gets pretty uncomfortable down here.” The man says, “No problem. I’m from Chicago.”
The devil goes over to the thermostat, turns the thermostat up to 100 and the humidity up to 80. He then goes back to the Chicago man to see how he’s doing. To the devil’s surprise, the man is doing just fine. “No problem…just like Chicago in June,” the man says.
The devil goes back over to the thermostat, and turns the temperature up to 150, and the humidity up to 90. He then goes back over to see how the Chicago man is doing. The man is sweating a little, but overall looks comfortable. “No problem. Just like Chicago in July,” the man says.
So now the devil goes over to the thermostat, turns the temperature up to 200, and the humidity up to 100. When he goes back to see how the man is doing, the man is sweating profusely, and has taken his shirt off. Otherwise, he seems fine. He says, “No problem. Just like Chicago in August.”
The devil is perplexed now. He goes back to the thermostat, and turns the temperature down to minus 150 degrees. Immediately, all the humidity in the air freezes up, and the whole place becomes a frigid, barren, frozen, deadly wasteland.
When he goes back now to see how the Chicago man is doing, he is shocked to discover the man is jumping up and down, cheering in obvious delight. The devil immediately asks the man what is going on. To which the Chicago man replies…”The Cubs won the World Series! The Cubs won the World Series!”
©Summerville Journal-Scene 2007
posted by Doug Dickerson | 9:04 AM
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