Dad's keeping his thermostat at seventy-four degrees, while staying under his comforter or wearing a sweatshirt. As well as entering a new phase in the father-daughter relationship, I may have crossed a new line of hormonal weirdness. Feeling queasy in Dad's tropical nursing home terrarium at seventy-four, I got home and shivered at sixty-nine degrees. Walking by the creek without a jacket at fifty-five feels perfect. Back inside and wrapped in an afghan with a fire in the fireplace, seventy-two feels polar.
Is this some cosmic utility payback for my nagging of Black Hills Energy for the refund on Dad's averaged gas bill? Or maybe post-menopausal mindgames?
(The Lovin' Spoonful)
Hot town, summer in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isn't it a pity
Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city
© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder
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