I'm a Fan of the Fan

Long ago and far away I lived in a tiny rental house.  It consisted of two small bedrooms, a bath, a kitchenette, a living room and a garage.  It was also three houses down the street from Mom and Dad.

Mom and Dad remodeled their house to have three bedrooms, two baths, a full kitchen, dining room, and full basement with garage.  It took them ten years to do it.  My house had never been enlarged and was the original floor plan for the block. 

My house also lacked air conditioning.

Now, for those of you in the northern areas of the planet, that might not seem to be such a big deal.  But here in the Midwest, where we suffer from enjoy the best of both the north and the south, it was somewhat brutal.  Temperatures here can go up into the low 100's during the summer and stay there for weeks on end.

It was just such a summer that year, so rather than melt into a pool in the middle of my hut, I took some money from my meager paycheck and

purchased a box fan.  There was no way I could afford a window unit air conditioner, but I could swing the fan.  And, as luck would have it, I was able to get all fancy and get a STAND for the fan, meaning it could sit in front of a window and blow right on me as I slept.

I was in heaven.  Below me was a water bed (oh yes, I did) with no heater making sure my backside was cool.  Above me, cool breezes came in from the window.  I would sleep the sleep of angels with that box fan whirring all night long.

(insert deep, satisfied sigh here)

Then, as they always do, the seasons changed.

It got chilly in the bedroom, so I added a heater to the water bed.  The cool breeze was still blowing, so I turned the fan on low and closed the windows.  And then I thought, "Why on earth do I need a fan running?  I'll just turn it off and save the electricity."

I snuggled down into my nice, warm water bed and tried to get to sleep.

And tried to get to sleep...

And tried to get to sleep...

And tried to get to sleep...all to no avail. 

It was just TOO QUIET in the room.  I could hear the house settling, the neighbors yelling at each other, the sirens from the police, and my own breathing. 

So I got up and turned the fan back on.  I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

It was then that I realized I was addicted to white noise.

Since then, I have slept with a fan every single night.  I can't go to sleep without it, or some semblance of white noise.  In times of severe need I can make do with a radio tuned to static or a hotel air conditioner, but I really prefer the old, noisy box fan.

Hubster caught my addiction, because he found that if he wanted to sleep in the same room as me we'd have to have a fan running.  Being as we were married, he decided he could man up and suffer through the fan stuff to be with me.

That was big of him.

Nowadays the kids laugh at us because Grandma and Grandpa bring their fan everywhere they plan to sleep.  We've been through more fans than I can count in 23 years, and I imagine we'll go through many more. 

Last night when the current fan gave up the ghost, I had to go into the No-Man's-Land of The Boy's room to get the one in there.

The protest from The Boy included, "But I'll never get it back!  FANS GO INTO YOUR ROOM TO DIE!!!" 

That's the truth, Son.  That's the truth.