“no air conditioning?how can you leep?”a friend ak， horrified。i've jut revealed that my family ha decided to hut the air conditioner off and trim our electric bill。
“nobody open a window，day or night，”warn another friend， whoe window have been painted hut for a decade。“thi i the '90。it' not afe。”
on thi firt night of our cot-cutting adventure，it' on1y 85 degree。we're not going to uffer， but the three kid gumble anyway。 they've grown up in 72-degree comfort，inulated from the world outide。
“how do you open thee window?” my huband ak。jiggling the metal tab， he finally releae one。 a potpourri of bug decorate the ill。 a we pring the window one by one， the night noie howl outide and in。“it' too hot to leep，”my 13-year-old daughter moan。
“i'm about to die from thi heat，”her brother holler down the hal1。“jut try it tonigt，”i tell them。
in truth i'm too tired to argue for long。i'm exhauted after attending grandma' etate auction。i toted home her oval tin bathtub and the chair i once tood on like a big hot behind the counter of her tore，acking tootie roll and rolling pennie。
my face i weaty， but i lie quietly litening to the cricket choir outide theat remind me of childhood，the neighbor' dog howl。probably a trepaing quirre1。it' been year ince i've taken the time to really liten to the night。WWw.hAOzuowEn.com
i think about grandma，who lived to 92 and till upervied mom' gardening until jut a few week before he died。
and then，i'm back there at the houe in the ummer heat of my childhood。
i move my pi11ow to the foot of grandma' bed and angle my face toward the open window。i flip the pillow， hunting for the cooler ide。
grandma ee me thrahing。“if you'11 jut watch for the breeze，”he ay，“you'11 cool off and fall aleep。”
he crank up the venetian blind。i tare at the filmy white curtain， willing it to flutter。
lying til1， waiting， i uddenly notice the life outide the window。 the bug choru hout“ajooga!ajooga!”neighbor， porch-itting late， peak in hazy word with anded edge that oothe me。
“keep watching for the breeze，”grandma ay oftly，and i“uhliuh”in reply。 june bug ping the creen。 three block away the frico train
rumble acro rooevelt avenue。
i catch the cent of freh gra clipping。 then i hear omething i can't decode--perhap a tree branch raking aphalt hingle on the tore roof next door。
leepy-eye now，i focu on the curtain。it flutter …
“mom，did y0u hear that?”my even-year-o1d blut。“i think it wa an owl family。”
“probably” i tell him。“jut keep litening…”
without the droning air condition，the houe i oddly peaceful，and the unfilter night noie eem cloe enough to touch。
i hope i'm awake tonight when the firt breeze neak in。