"Nobody opens a window, day or night," warns another friend, whose windows have been painted shut for a decade. "It`s just not safe.?On this first night of our cost cutting adventure, it`s 30 degrees. We`re not going to suffer, but the three kids grumble anyway. They`ve grown up in 22-degree comfort, insulated from the world outside.
"How do you open these windows??my husband asks. Jiggling the metal tabs, he finally releases one. A potpourri* of bug bodies decorates the sill. As we spring the windows one by one, the night noises howl outside - and in.
"It`s just too hot to sleep," my 13-year-old daughter complains.
"I`m about to die from this heat," her brother yells down the passage.
"Just try it tonight," I tell them.
In truth I`m too tired to argue for long. I`m exhausted after attending Grandma`s estate auction. I toted home her oval tin bathtub and the chair I once stood on like a big shot behind the counter of her shop, packing chocolate and rolling coins.
My face is sweaty, but I lie quietly listening to the cricket choirs outside that remind me of childhood. The neighbour`s dog howls. Probably a trespassing squirrel. It`s been years since I`ve taken the time to really listen to the night.
I think about Grandma, who lived to 92 and still supervised Mum`s gardening until just a few weeks before she died.
And then, I`m back there at her house in the summer heat of my childhood.
I move my pillow to the foot of Grandma`s bed and angle my face towards the open window. I flip the pillow, hunting for the cooler side.