I've just returned from the most amazing journey! (Suddenly
I sound like Trista and Ryan and all those other people on The
Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Joe Millionaire,
etc.) Have you ever noticed that they all use the same script?
Everything is "amazing," as in "This was the most amazing date
of my life!" "She/he is such an amazing girl/guy!!" "Her/his family
is so amazing!!!" All summed up by, "This has been an amazing
journey!!!!" And, yes, they do always speak with multiple explanation
points.
But I digress. (I'm allowed, at my age). Back to my own amazing
journey! Unfortunately I didn't share it with 25 handsome hunks
or even average Joes. I traveled alone; but my journey was amazing,
nevertheless. What made it so amazing? (If I don't go back to
a strict PBS TV diet soon, I will need an emergency vocabulary
transplant.) Sorry, I'm digressing again, aren't I?
Okay, I'm ready to tell you about my unusual voyage (see, I do
know other words!). I zoomed from Antarctica to the tropics in
just 48 hours. What's more, I didn't have to go through airport
security, I didn't have to bother with luggage, and I didn't suffer
jet lag. How come? Because I experienced these diverse environments
in the comfort (or, rather, discomfort) of my own New England
condo.
Last Sunday night, when the temperatures dipped (how come temperatures
always dip and never simply fall?) below zero, my heat gave one
last gasp and conked out. As the wind whistled outside, within
minutes all the baseboards in every room turned to ice. (Well,
not literally, but you know what I mean.) It was 11:00 PM. I could
have sent for the on-call weekend emergency maintenance guy, but
I hated to bother him at that hour. I'm one of those independent
people who'd rather die than inconvenience anyone. Of course,
I didn't realize that dying was a distinct possibility until I
heard the next morning that a man in Philadelphia had succumbed
to hypothermia in his sleep because he had no heat in his house.
In fact, so blissfully unaware of the danger was I that I even
took a sleeping pill to get me through the night, but not before
I had piled every blanket and afghan I owned on my bed, plus a
storm coat that guaranteed protection to temperatures of -20°F.
I had bought it last year so I'd be able to walk my daily two
miles throughout the winter. (Oh, the lies we tell ourselves.
I abandoned that resolution at the first sign of frost, sub-zero
coat notwithstanding.)
Regrettably, I don't own any warm sleepwear. I prefer a cool
(but not Arctic) bedroom and lots of blankets, but I can't stand
flannel PJs. I wear sleeveless cotton nightgowns all year round.
Apparently I'm hot in bed. (Again, those lies we tell ourselves.)
But my well-blanketed cocoon protected me. Unlike that unfortunate
man in Philadelphia, I did wake up in the morning and ran from
my bed to a steaming shower (thank God I still had hot water).
I then donned sweat pants, a turtle neck, a heavy sweater-and
my storm coat, and called my maintenance guy who scolded me for
not calling him sooner. He diagnosed my problem as a broken valve
and declared I'd have to call a plumber to replace it. Meanwhile,
he could patch up the valve so I would have heat, but I wouldn't
be able to regulate it. It would get very hot, he said. "Just
open a window."
Naturally every plumber within a hundred mile radius was busy
fixing pipes that had burst through the night, so I was going
to have to wait until the following afternoon for service. No
problem, thought I. I'd be fine. But then the heat came on full
blast. I was not fine. The saying, "Too much of a good thing is
wonderful" definitely does not apply to heat. Enough in winter
is good. Too much is unbearable. As I gasped for breath, my phone
rang. It was a friend who thought I was still in the deep freeze
calling to quip, "Rose, I see Wal-Mart is having a special on
blankets. Shall I go get you a couple?" "No, thanks," I said,
"but I'd appreciate a bikini, if they have any." Right. Like I
could wear a bikini. More self-deception.
I did strip down to my underwear, but I did not follow my maintenance
man's advice to open a window. I opened all my windows.
Wide. I turned on my ceiling fans. My house still felt like the
tropics. So I decided to go with it. I put a calypso CD on my
stereo, turned my sound machine onto "surf," poured myself a gin
and tonic (but had to do without a paper umbrella), sank onto
my recliner, closed my eyes, and imagined that the blades of the
overhead fan were palm fronds stirring in an ocean breeze. It
worked fairly well for a few minutes (actually, until I finished
the gin and tonic), and then reality and near heat prostration
set in. I had a miserably uncomfortable night.
My plumber is due in five hours. I'm waiting for him on my icy
front steps. It feels amazing!
Rose's new book, The
Stranger in My Mirror and Other Reflections is available by
special order from most book stores, or on the web at www.amazon.com
and www.barnesandnoble.com
Rose Mula was an executive
assistant, a public relations specialist, and an operations manager
for a New England theater chain before discovering a passion for
writing.
Her work has appeared
in The Saturday Evening Post, Yankee, Modern Maturity, The
Christian Science Monitor, The Reader's Digest, The Philadelphia
Inquirer, The Baltimore Sun, and more than a hundred other
magazines and newspapers. Actually-thousands of newspapers, since
one of her essays, The
Stranger in My Mirror (originally titled, The Stranger
in My House), was reprinted in Ann Landers' nationally syndicated
column in 1999, and after an explanatory exchange with Ms. Landers, an attribution.
Rose's new book, If These Are Laugh Lines I'm Having Way Too Much Fun, is available at bookstores, through online bookstores, and from Pelican Publishing, 800-843-1724. The book was a finalist in USABOOKNEWS.COM's 2006 Best Books Award humor category. Meanwhile, she can reached
by e-mail.
