Susan Flynn
A friend told me this week he had turned the heat on at his house. I must say I felt a little disappointed. He just seemed stronger than that.
At our house, the heat is off and will stay that way until November. That's the plan on paper, anyway.
A single oil bill of $575 is an effective motivator. I may even tape a copy next to the thermostat to keep us on target, similar to the way some women tape a picture of a bikini-clad model to the fridge as an incentive when dieting.
Around the neighborhood, the question is fairly common: Have you turned on the heat?
We want to see who's the toughest, or perhaps the cheapest, among us.
With temperatures in the 70s, as they were this week, it's easy to exercise willpower.
But we have been put to the test. On one particularly chilly evening this month, we seriously entertained the idea of turning on the heat for 15 minutes "just to take the chill off." But, like a diet ruined by just one cookie, we knew in our hearts that once we got a taste of the heat, we would never go back.
"Take the chill off" quickly slips into half an hour, then an hour, then just at night, just as the oil company wants it to.
One night, I will admit, we turned on the space heater in the family room for a few hours. A co-worker says I can't brag about not turning on the heat if I used a space heater. He says there should be an asterisk added somewhere next to my claim. But I disagree. The thing uses electricity. It's puny. (I think he's just jealous.)
My father always took pride in keeping the heat off for as long as humanely possible.
Even once it came on, it was hard to tell. He thought 62 degrees was comfortable.
I called him this week to ask if he had turned on the heat. He hadn't yet. But he won't try to stick to any arbitrary turn-on date anymore. He's 73. If he's cold, he says, he will turn on the heat.
Say it isn't so, Dad.
I don't mind wearing my fleece jacket indoors, and a sweatshirt, with the hood up. Watching TV under a few blankets is kind of cozy. Hot chocolate at night can really take the edge off.
We weatherstripped the windows and ordered long underwear from L.L.Bean. We will do whatever it takes to limit visits from the oil man, short of chasing him away when the truck pulls into the driveway, an approach one friend took with some success.
Don't for a minute think I'm the type who doesn't mind the cold. The truth is I hate the cold, and winter, too. Green Christmases don't disappoint me.
For years, I coped by denial. One winter, I didn't own boots, or a hat. I went a few seasons without an ice scraper in the car, instead improvising with a plastic tape cassette case in the event the defroster didn't work fast enough.
But as much as I hate the cold, the prospect of spending $3,000 on oil this winter is what truly sends shivers down my spine.
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Staff writer Susan Flynn can be reached at 978-338-2658 or by e-mail at sflynn@salemnews.com.
