“No air conditioning？How can you sleep？”a friend asks, horrified.I've just revealed that my family has decided to shut the air conditioner off and trim our electric bill.
“Nobody opens a window,day or night,”warns another friend, whose windows have been painted shut for a decade.“This is the '90s.It's not safe.”
On this first night of our cost-cutting adventure,it's on1y 85 degrees.we're not going to suffer, but the three kids gumble anyway. They've grown up in 72-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 decorates the sill. As we spring the windows one by one, the night noises howl outside and in.“It's too hot to sleep,”my 13-year-old daughter moans.
“I'm about to die from this heat,”her brother hollers down the hal1.“Just try it tonigt,”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 store,sacking Tootsie Rolls and rolling pennies.
My face is sweaty, but I lie quietly listening to the cricket choirs outside theat remind me of childhood,The neighbor's dog howls.Probably a trespassing squirre1.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 Mom's gardening until just a few weeks before she died.
And then,I'm back there at the house in the summer heat of my childhood.
I move my pi11ow to the foot of Grandma's bed and angle my face toward the open window.I flip the pillow, hunting for the cooler side.
Grandma sees me thrashing.“If you'11 just watch for the breeze,”she says,“you'11 cool off and fall asleep.”
She cranks up the Venetian blinds.I stare at the filmy white curtain, willing it to flutter.
Lying stil1, waiting, I suddenly notice the life outside the window. The bug chorus shouts“Ajooga！Ajooga！”Neighbors, porch-sitting late, speak in hazy words with sanded edges that soothe me.
“Keep watching for the breeze,”Grandma says softly,and I“uhliuh”in reply. June bugs ping the screen. Three blocks away the Frisco train rumbles across Roosevelt Avenue.
I catch the scent of fresh grass clippings. Then I hear something I can't decode——perhaps a tree branch raking asphalt shingles on the store roof next door.
Sleepy-eye now,I focus on the curtain.It flutters …
“MOM,DID Y0U HEAR THAT？”my seven-year-o1d bluts.“I think it was an owl family.”
“Probably” I tell him.“Just keep listening…”
Without the droning air condition,the house is oddly peaceful,and the unfilter night noises seem close enough to touch.
I hope I'm awake tonight when the first breeze sneaks in.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“不開空調(diào)？那怎么睡呀？”當(dāng)我說出我家決定關(guān)掉空調(diào)以減低電耗時(shí),一位朋友非常驚慌地問道。
“不管是白天還是晚上,沒有誰會(huì)把窗戶打開?！绷硪粦?yīng)朋反捍醒我說。她家的窗戶封上有十來年了。“現(xiàn)在是九十年代,很不安全?！?BR> 開始省電的那一晚,溫度只有85度（華氏）。其實(shí)并不難受,但孩子們已經(jīng)開始叫嚷了。他們習(xí)慣了72度室溫,完全與外界隔絕。
“怎么打開這窗戶？”丈夫邊問邊活動(dòng)窗戶把手,終于弄開了一邊。圈框外點(diǎn)綴著爬蟲的尸體。我們把窗戶一扇扇打開,夜晚的嘈雜聲在窗外彌漫,一下如潮般貫進(jìn)屋內(nèi)。
“太熱了,怎么睡呀！”十三歲的女兒抱怨道。
“我快熱死了?！彼牡艿茉谶^道上叫嚷著。
“今晚先試試看吧。”我對他們說。
我實(shí)在不想跟他們爭論下去。參加外婆的房子拍賣儀式后,我累壞了。因?yàn)槲野褭E圓錫浴缸和一張椅子扛了回來。小時(shí)候有一次在外婆的店子里,就是站在那椅子上,我象個(gè)大亨一樣在收銀臺(tái)后一邊嚼吐著蛋卷一邊大把大把地收鈔票。
我腦上冒著汗,卻在靜靜地聆聽窗外昆蟲的合唱,讓我想起了童年。鄰家有狗叫聲,也許因?yàn)橛兄宦槿戈J入了它的領(lǐng)地。好多年沒有聆聽夜的聲音了。
我想起外婆。幾個(gè)星期前去世時(shí)92歲,之前還一直幫媽媽照料照花草。
于是我回到了童年呆在她房子里的那個(gè)酷熱的夏天。
我把枕頭移到外婆的床腳,臉沖著窗戶；又把枕頭翻過去,想睡在較涼的一面上。
外婆看著我祈禱一番,說道:“如果你靜靜地把著風(fēng),就會(huì)涼快下來,很快就能睡著。”
她把活動(dòng)百葉窗拉起。我盯著薄如蟬翼的白色窗紗,盼著它能抖動(dòng)一下。
靜躺著,等待著,我突然留意到窗外的生命。爬蟲在嘰嘎夜唱,鄰居在陽臺(tái)上的低語輕呵著我。
“留意把風(fēng)?！蓖馄泡p聲說。我恩的應(yīng)了一下。六月的小蟲拍撞在窗簾上,不遠(yuǎn)處傳來火車穿過羅斯威大道的隆隆聲。
我突然嗅到一陣剪草清香。接著,一種陌生的聲音傳來——也許是一棵樹枝撩過隔壁屋頂?shù)耐叩[吧！
這時(shí)的我己昏昏欲睡,眼睛仍盯在窗簾上。它動(dòng)起來了…
“媽,你聽到了嗎？”我那七歲的兒子嚷道,“我猜是一群夜鶯呢！”
“可能吧！”我說,“繼續(xù)聽呵…”
沒有了嗡嗡作響的空調(diào)聲,房子里顯得格外平靜,夜的聲音真切的觸手可及。
希望今夜第一絲晚風(fēng)襲來時(shí),我還依然清醒。
“Nobody opens a window,day or night,”warns another friend, whose windows have been painted shut for a decade.“This is the '90s.It's not safe.”
On this first night of our cost-cutting adventure,it's on1y 85 degrees.we're not going to suffer, but the three kids gumble anyway. They've grown up in 72-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 decorates the sill. As we spring the windows one by one, the night noises howl outside and in.“It's too hot to sleep,”my 13-year-old daughter moans.
“I'm about to die from this heat,”her brother hollers down the hal1.“Just try it tonigt,”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 store,sacking Tootsie Rolls and rolling pennies.
My face is sweaty, but I lie quietly listening to the cricket choirs outside theat remind me of childhood,The neighbor's dog howls.Probably a trespassing squirre1.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 Mom's gardening until just a few weeks before she died.
And then,I'm back there at the house in the summer heat of my childhood.
I move my pi11ow to the foot of Grandma's bed and angle my face toward the open window.I flip the pillow, hunting for the cooler side.
Grandma sees me thrashing.“If you'11 just watch for the breeze,”she says,“you'11 cool off and fall asleep.”
She cranks up the Venetian blinds.I stare at the filmy white curtain, willing it to flutter.
Lying stil1, waiting, I suddenly notice the life outside the window. The bug chorus shouts“Ajooga！Ajooga！”Neighbors, porch-sitting late, speak in hazy words with sanded edges that soothe me.
“Keep watching for the breeze,”Grandma says softly,and I“uhliuh”in reply. June bugs ping the screen. Three blocks away the Frisco train rumbles across Roosevelt Avenue.
I catch the scent of fresh grass clippings. Then I hear something I can't decode——perhaps a tree branch raking asphalt shingles on the store roof next door.
Sleepy-eye now,I focus on the curtain.It flutters …
“MOM,DID Y0U HEAR THAT？”my seven-year-o1d bluts.“I think it was an owl family.”
“Probably” I tell him.“Just keep listening…”
Without the droning air condition,the house is oddly peaceful,and the unfilter night noises seem close enough to touch.
I hope I'm awake tonight when the first breeze sneaks in.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“不開空調(diào)？那怎么睡呀？”當(dāng)我說出我家決定關(guān)掉空調(diào)以減低電耗時(shí),一位朋友非常驚慌地問道。
“不管是白天還是晚上,沒有誰會(huì)把窗戶打開?！绷硪粦?yīng)朋反捍醒我說。她家的窗戶封上有十來年了。“現(xiàn)在是九十年代,很不安全?！?BR> 開始省電的那一晚,溫度只有85度（華氏）。其實(shí)并不難受,但孩子們已經(jīng)開始叫嚷了。他們習(xí)慣了72度室溫,完全與外界隔絕。
“怎么打開這窗戶？”丈夫邊問邊活動(dòng)窗戶把手,終于弄開了一邊。圈框外點(diǎn)綴著爬蟲的尸體。我們把窗戶一扇扇打開,夜晚的嘈雜聲在窗外彌漫,一下如潮般貫進(jìn)屋內(nèi)。
“太熱了,怎么睡呀！”十三歲的女兒抱怨道。
“我快熱死了?！彼牡艿茉谶^道上叫嚷著。
“今晚先試試看吧。”我對他們說。
我實(shí)在不想跟他們爭論下去。參加外婆的房子拍賣儀式后,我累壞了。因?yàn)槲野褭E圓錫浴缸和一張椅子扛了回來。小時(shí)候有一次在外婆的店子里,就是站在那椅子上,我象個(gè)大亨一樣在收銀臺(tái)后一邊嚼吐著蛋卷一邊大把大把地收鈔票。
我腦上冒著汗,卻在靜靜地聆聽窗外昆蟲的合唱,讓我想起了童年。鄰家有狗叫聲,也許因?yàn)橛兄宦槿戈J入了它的領(lǐng)地。好多年沒有聆聽夜的聲音了。
我想起外婆。幾個(gè)星期前去世時(shí)92歲,之前還一直幫媽媽照料照花草。
于是我回到了童年呆在她房子里的那個(gè)酷熱的夏天。
我把枕頭移到外婆的床腳,臉沖著窗戶；又把枕頭翻過去,想睡在較涼的一面上。
外婆看著我祈禱一番,說道:“如果你靜靜地把著風(fēng),就會(huì)涼快下來,很快就能睡著。”
她把活動(dòng)百葉窗拉起。我盯著薄如蟬翼的白色窗紗,盼著它能抖動(dòng)一下。
靜躺著,等待著,我突然留意到窗外的生命。爬蟲在嘰嘎夜唱,鄰居在陽臺(tái)上的低語輕呵著我。
“留意把風(fēng)?！蓖馄泡p聲說。我恩的應(yīng)了一下。六月的小蟲拍撞在窗簾上,不遠(yuǎn)處傳來火車穿過羅斯威大道的隆隆聲。
我突然嗅到一陣剪草清香。接著,一種陌生的聲音傳來——也許是一棵樹枝撩過隔壁屋頂?shù)耐叩[吧！
這時(shí)的我己昏昏欲睡,眼睛仍盯在窗簾上。它動(dòng)起來了…
“媽,你聽到了嗎？”我那七歲的兒子嚷道,“我猜是一群夜鶯呢！”
“可能吧！”我說,“繼續(xù)聽呵…”
沒有了嗡嗡作響的空調(diào)聲,房子里顯得格外平靜,夜的聲音真切的觸手可及。
希望今夜第一絲晚風(fēng)襲來時(shí),我還依然清醒。