Somewhere in my house has developed a whistling when the air conditioner is on. It's been ungodly hot this week - well, for Colorado, anyway - and we're having company over on Saturday, some friends of mine. So we've taken to having the AC on to help keep the house cool, so we're not jacking it up when we need it.
So, there's a faint whistle, the muted squeeeeee of air moving over some opening. And some people it would drive mad.
I've found that it's comforting to me. Comforting because it evokes the memory of my Granny's house in Memphis, Tennessee. I loved both sets of my grandparents. My mom's mom lived in a nice little suburb, with my mom's sister down the street and around the corner. Granny's house wasn't all too big, as all the kids had moved out, but it was warm, and homey. The family room set back from the front door, the floor covered in deep red tile and had wood paneling on the walls- the room was mostly dark, and no amount of lamps could illuminate the thing. The TV sat in front of what I think used to be the hearth - no need for fires with central heat and air. And we would sit (okay, I would sit) and eat my favorite treat (okay, one of my favorite treats). My Granny's oatmeal cookies with a big glass of orange juice. I've had people tell me that's an odd combination, but Granny's oatmeal cookies (of course they had rasins) weren't overly sweet. They weren't overly crumbly, either, but just that right spot in the middle, as a Granny's cookie should be. I would munch cookies pilfered from the pig (her cookie jar was a pig in top hat and coat, replete with monocle) and watch the television. I don't remember what. Wrestling. Movies. Didn't much matter. I had my cookies and oj.
And in the background, the whistle from the vents.
O:KMMS - July 14, 2005