I have moved over to WhittereronAutism.com. Please follow the link to find me there. Hope to see you after the jump! :)

Thursday, May 01, 2008

The eye is the door of the soul

I type swiftly for a few moments, as blogging is such cheap therapy:-

'Whatever your game, it is best to start with a straight cricket bat or baseball stick, so in the interests of full disclosure, I should explain that we do live in a lovely home.

That said, there are many things that are wrong with it, all of which are extremely irritating.

If I still lived in England I would ensure that I had a glass roof for maximum light but I live in California where there is already lots of light. In England people live in cottages with four foot thick brick walls and windows the size of dinner plates to keep the heat in and sacrifice light. Who needs light when you are frozen solid? In California, we enjoy the light through huge windows. What we do not enjoy is the heat. Why? Because there is simply far too much of it, heat that is to say. This is where we come to the nub of the issue. There are several weeks around this time of year when it is far too extravagant to turn on air conditioning. Instead, we should open the windows and let the air flow freely.

This would be my first choice, my environmental choice, but I am thwarted by ludicrous architectural design. What is the point of having a window if you can’t open it! It’s like being in an office block where the windows are sealed to prevent people leaping out of them. What a country!

I’m almost tempted to seek out an architect and confront them. There again, they always have an answer for everything. I’d bet you a farthing it would be something to do with sight lines. Everything is always to do with sight lines. As if this isn’t enough to contend with, it actually gets worse. We’ve been in this house for nearly nine years. From day one I have been mystified. What could possibly be worse than a window that doesn’t open? A window that does open but is unreachable. I’d need a fifteen foot ladder to reach that stupid window. It’s enough to test the sanity of any blow in. Somebody explain the logic!'

“Mom!” A small person appears at my side to crack the creative muse.
“Yes dear.”
“Why it is?”
“Why is what dear?”
“Dah door.”
“What about the door?”
“It is be shutted.”
“Which door?”
“Dah door in dah………..?”
The only room that they unfailing cannot recall……..
“Show me.” We trot over there together, hand in hand, so I have the chance to bask in hand leading, a toddler skill that we have been practicing this year. He points at the door. I open it for him, the hall closet that hides the vacuum and junk.
“No. The other one.”
“Oh I can’t open that one.”
“Why you not open?”
“Because it’s locked.”
“Why it be locked?”
“Because the boiler is in there.”
“Who is the Boiler?”

Sometimes is just simpler in the long run.

I reach up to the trim and feel about for the key, unlock and open. “There. That big thing is the boiler. It makes the water hot.”
“Why lock?”
“Because it’s dangerous. It’s hot.”
“Open dah door and it be cooleder.”
“Fair point. But anyway it’s ugly.”
“Unsightly, not pleasing to the eye……so if we shut the door then we can’t see it.”
“I am like see it. Why it be lock?”
“Well, when we moved in here you were all babies, in fact you weren’t even born.”
“Er….arrived. Babies might touch it and hurt themselves.”
“Dat is stoopid to be touch dah hot thing.”
“Yes, but you can’t be too careful.”
“No stoopid babies round here.”

Ain’t that the truth.

AddThis Social Bookmark Button