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open vs. closed

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Written by Sarah Eddenden

It’s hot now. As is typical where I live, it is cold for too long and then it’s spring for the blink of an eye – and then it’s hot.
When it’s hot, my husband and I take up where we left off the last hot day: the opening vs the closing of windows.
He opens them and I close them.
Both my husband and I are uncomfortable using the air conditioner. We are sandwiched between two air conditioner hogs. Our neighbour to the left leaves hers on during the day so that when she comes home in the evening, the house is pleasantly cool. Very Mary Antoinette-ish. Our neighbour to the right turn their air conditioner on May 1 and turn it off October 15. So it works hard while they vacation up north for two weeks every July as well as every other weekend all summer.
The constant hum, the waste of power, the self-indulgence, the ignorance, the selfishness – it all infuriates me. Both of us. So we don’t use ours. We tough it out.
I like to open windows in the house. Just not all of them. Only some of them.
This morning, my husband headed downstairs for breakfast. By the time I joined him, he had pulled up every window covering and opened every window wide as well as the back door.
I said,
“It’s freezing.”
He said,
“Put a sweater on.”
Maybe it wasn’t “freezing” but it was foggy outside, there was a bite in the air, and it was chilly.
But my problem was, suddenly we were on display to the world. Where had my privacy gone? I wasn't even dressed yet.
I sat on a chair and sulked a bit. When my husband left for work, I closed the back door and locked it and half closed the front window, pulled down a few window coverings half way.
It’s the same at night. He would like to all the upstairs windows open – I feel too exposed.
Rather than argue or sulk more, I’ve tried to figure out why this is a constant battle. My husband is frustrated with me, plus he’s really hot. The heat may not bother me as much but there’s more to it.
I need my home to be insulated. It truly represents my barrier to the rest of the world. When I come home, I don’t want to think about the stuff outside anymore, or hear it, even. And I don’t want the stuff outside to see or hear me. It’s my safety zone. My protective shelter.
My womb.
My husband won’t buy it. We’ll continue our struggle, him opening windows and me shutting them behind him. Wide open vs. halfway. I'll fight for moderation and he'll fight for relief.

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