BLAME INSOMNIA ON THE FRESH AIR WARS
On the connubial battleground, the bedroom window is contentious territory.
One person will want it open, the other person will want it closed.
This dynamic is written in the stars long before you lean in for a kiss. Mother Nature has a wicked sense of humour.
The definition of “open just a crack” sees troops aligned on either side of the debate. Expect tape measures and telemetry. Expect debate and description of weather conditions in support of each person's position regarding said window.
“But it's Jannnnuuuary!” “Gosh, but isn't it mild!” My secret manoeuvre is to agree, then covertly, on tip-toe, under cover of darkness, throw open the window as wide as it will go once my adversary is asleep.
I can do this.
You see, I'm up.
I'm up all night long.
I'm staring at the ceiling. I'm revisiting and revising choices made at any point in my life.
Dodgeball, circa Grade 6: Go low, and don't knock Kelly's glasses off.
Grad dance: Anticipate blow dryer failure. Have backup apparatus.
Emerald green carpeting: Not bold; restrictive. There's a reason people pick neutrals.
There should be a bedtime expression to equal “esprit d'escalier,” meaning the brilliant retort that you think of as you're on the stairs leaving the party. I call it “esprit etre au lit.” My French may not be perfect, but the idea is spot on: the vastly better idea that keeps you awake at night. I vacillate between these sorts of self-recriminations and the math problems that only the sleep deprived know of:
“If I fall asleep now, I'd get 4.25 hours of sleep before the alarm goes off.”
“If I fall asleep now, then I'd get 3.5 hours of sleep by the time the alarm goes off.”
Like I said, I'm up.
So, you see, I can open the window and then I can close the window long before the subterfuge is detected. From all observable evidence, his sleep is undisturbed by the offending breeze. Case in point: He's kicked most of the covers to the floor. Indeed, he can fall asleep on an ice floe or a lava flow. His sleep would be undisturbed by a runaway gravel truck barrelling through the bedroom. Can't sleep with the window open, my eye!
Dr. Matthew Walker declaims that sleep is the “Elixir of life.” No argument here. A week of sleeplessness has me defaulting to that vastly inferior elixir: coffee. Dr. Walker authored the book, Why We Sleep, explaining
what MRIS and the like have revealed about what the brain does when we enter the arms of Morpheus, which is a fancy way of saying, when we're sleeping. As a neuroscientist at the Center for Human Sleep Science at UC Berkeley, he's especially qualified to make these proclamations. Unfortunately for me, he champions regularity — going to bed and rising at the same time every day. Our circadian rhythm is like a trained seal that responds well to patterns. He also, however, makes the case for keeping the bedroom at a refreshing 68 degrees Fahrenheit — that's about 20 degree Celsius for us. I prefer something somewhat brisker, but let's not quibble over a degree or two. The idea is that the brain and the body need to drop their core temperature in order to fall asleep and to stay asleep. So you see my predicament? I have to disrupt my circadian rhythm in order to stay awake long enough to open the window to achieve the optimal drop in temperature.
This is a problem I'll work on tonight. Pretty sure I've got some free time around 3 a.m.
Jane Macdougall is a freelance writer and former National Post columnist who lives in Vancouver. Her garden is her major distraction during COVID-19. She will be writing on The Bookless Club every Saturday online and in The Vancouver Sun.
THIS WEEK'S QUESTION FOR READERS
Sleep, glorious sleep! How are you doing in the sleep stakes? Any tips for insomniacs?
Send your answers by email text, not an attachment, in 100 words or less,
along with your full name to Jane at thebooklessclub@gmail.com. We will print some next week in this space.
RESPONSES TO LAST WEEK'S QUESTION:
Do you have a favourite or a unique sandwich recipe?
As far as I'm concerned, the best sandwich ever is on the days following Christmas, Thanksgiving, or Easter dinner. Start with a hearty bread (such as multi-grain or sourdough) with a slathering of mayo and Dijon mustard. Layer leftover sliced turkey, cranberry sauce, and stuffing. If using dry white meat, you might choose to dip the turkey into the leftover gravy. You might consider a brief zap in the microwave just to take the chill off the fillings. I know turkey dinner purists will be horrified, but I'd rather eat this meal in sandwich form the next day than plated the night before.
Michele Libling
Bread. Vegemite. Tomatoes. Pepper. Yer done!
M. Collins
Many years ago in my hometown Dawson Creek, there was the Alaska Cafe run by Heidi and Charles Kucharski-kardos. They served a Dagwood sandwich I ate faithfully every Friday. I can't remember everything that was in it, but I do know it contained raw onions and ham piled on grilled French bread. My mouth waters thinking of it. Charles and Heidi were famous for another reason: They shut down their café for a few days when each of their three daughters was born. Unheard of in those days.
Cathie Roy
It may be a bit crazy, but I have been eating the same lunch for approximately 47 years, aside from the times I was travelling through Southeast Asia and another while in Japan. Aside from that, I still have the same lunch every day, and usually after I say to myself: “What a great lunch.” One sandwich is a cheese (melted when possible), tomato, lettuce and avocado sandwich on Russian Rye or whole grain bread (occasionally alfalfa sprouts have been added as well). The second sandwich is my standby natural crunchy peanut butter and honey sandwich on whole grain bread. In the early days (1970s), I used to have the peanut butter and honey on half a sandwich and hard-boiled egg and lettuce on the other half, but I decided that was too much work when the peanut butter and honey was so good. The bonus is that I've recently gone back to making my own whole grain bread, which is my late mother's recipe. When a sandwich tastes that good, why change?
Tom Barichello
I was basically raised on peanut butter sandwiches. Growing up in what was then Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), where peanuts were a main crop, I was sent to school everyday with a PB sandwich for my lunch, and I loved it — every day. Somehow, I never tired of it. To this day, a PB sandwich is still my all-time favourite, preferably between two slices of the grainiest, seediest bread available, with a generous portion of crunchy lettuce. I have eaten these in the most memorable of places — on mountaintops, in beautiful pristine snow on cross-country ski trips, and anywhere else there is a gorgeous view or natural setting. Somehow, PB sandwiches taste even better in the great outdoors.
Carlie Holland
My favourite was a baloney, green pepper and peanut butter on caraway seed rye bread. Be sure to have a beer nearby to flush with in case of a jamming in the throat. My ex-wife was a chef and you can't imagine what she thought of this mass.
Bob White
My mom worked as a cook at a 24-hour café at Burrard and Second Avenue in Vancouver in the 1950s. A favourite on the menu was a Johnny's Special. For 70 years it has been a “go to” for a quick meal for my family. In a small fry pan, sauté sliced onions in a little butter until lightly browned. Place an egg on top and cook to desired firmness. Toast bread and slice tomatoes. Assemble with egg, onions and tomatoes. Some like to add mayo, but it is great without. The flavour is amazing and it is a satisfying fast-food meal.
Thelma Bell
My favourite is a toasted sardine and onion. Toasted multigrain bread (four slices), spread on one face with mayonnaise. A can of soya-based oil sardines, spread over the mayonnaise (two and a half sardines per face). Pepper is added at this point and then topped with thinly sliced raw onions (sweet ones when in season). Cover with remaining slices and slice in half. Yum! Yum!