I AM Living the Monastic Life -Sort Of

OK, so my house is more furnished than this, but not by much!

I first discovered the house in which we now live when I was pregnant with our oldest.  I befriended a woman in my maternity exercise class who was a few weeks ahead of me.  She invited us to her home for the bris, the Jewish rite of circumcision, and I fell in love with the place - the spacious rooms, hardwood floors and large and expansive garden.  When our friends moved away, we expressed interest in buying the house, but they opted to rent it out, not sure if they were going to like living in Teaneck, NJ.  But about 8 years later, they decided to sell. They called and left a message on our answering machine, asking if Jim would like to paint the house.  We called back and said no, we were more interested in buying it.  The people that rented it from them had beat the house nearly into the ground.  The told our friends they had 4 kids.  They really had 11. Our friends would have rented to them anyway, but they would have insisted on more frequent maintenance.   The husband never wanted to bother the landlord with repairs, so he did all the patching himself.  The house was in sad shape but I remembered what it used to look like, and I knew it could be restored.

I thought we should invest in central air.  My husband, who, you understand, lived atop a laundromat for years without so much as a fan, didn't agree.  He thought window units were just fine.  They would be, if they didn't have to wait for him to install them.  There are two times during the year that I advise everyone to hide the women and children - the day he puts up the Christmas tree and the day he puts in the air conditioners.

Fortunately, he got the bedroom units in last week because it's so hot, the devil asked a cab driver for a ride in his air-conditioned sedan. I'm still waiting for hubby to install the downstairs unit.  It's so hot in this house that I hate getting out of my car when I get home because the car is at least air-conditioned.  I no sooner come in the door and into the convection oven that is our house when the question is popped:  "What's for dinner and what time will it be served?"

It's times like these when  I have to remind myself that the Blessed Virgin Mary never threw a pot at St. Joseph.

Lest you think "well, at least you sleep in an air-conditioned room", consider this.  Mr. Eskimo has discovered a nifty trick.  If he opens our closet door to just the right angle, all the air runs into the closet and is blocked by the door from coming into the bedroom.  It's not a big wonder why I never sleep well at night.  It's much easier to get warmer than it is to get cooler and when I suggest he use the comforter, he looks at me like I have three heads.

Sometimes, as we women are wont to do, I think about what might have been had I entered a monastery, and it occurs to me that my life might not be too much different than what it is now.

Rise at an early hour?  Check
Daily Mass?  Check (well, nearly always check)
Simple meals? Check
Modest and simple clothing? Check
Lack of heat in winter?  Check
Lack of air conditioning in summer?  Check
Sparsely furnished dwelling?  Check

All I need is a habit and I'm nearly all set (with a few minor complications, like the husband and kids and job!)