Living Under A Skylight

Until this place, I never have. Everywhere either had a solid roof, or was in a building with another floor on top. But this home has two skylights.

Now I was raised to value privacy, almost to extremes. Mom taught us - or me in particular, being a young girl at the time - not just to keep the blinds or curtains closed, but the importance of the difference in light levels between inside and outside. It had better be darker in the house if curtains were going to be opened. Or windows for fresh air, for that matter. It wasn't by any means a total prohibition for her. I have many memories of her standing with her back to a south-facing window with the sum coming in and warming up her back. The colder the day, the longer she stood there to collect free heat.

Inside doors had to be shut tight when changing clothes, sleeping, or using the bathroom for any purpose including brushing one's teeth - that last not being something I'd think of for a modesty fetish. Nobody thought to argue, it was just how to be "proper".

To this day I still judge internal light versus external light in deciding whether blinds need to be re-angled to give us privacy or if we could open them wider to see what was going on outside. Because it was outside, we weren't spying on the neighbors of course. Any good lawyer will tell you there is no expectation of privacy out in public. Besides, we like to know which delivery trucks are stopping, especially when it might mean something we ordered was being delivered. I can tell you which neighbor shakes out their small rugs from their front porch, who waxes their car at least monthly, whether it's recycle day or just garbage day by the colors of the lids on the cans brought to the curb. And we always check whether it's raining or snowing by looking at the street pavement.

But all that is normal stuff, typical for any dwelling that isn't a cave.

There are two skylights in our roof. One is in each bathroom, either over the toilet or the shower. On the one hand it's nice not to need to turn on a light every time it's in use, since neither bathroom has an actual window on any wall. On the other hand, there's Mom's paranoia about being seen when not perfectly clothed. And she never had to worry about who might have a drone out scouting, or how sensitive satellite cameras really are.

But when under a skylight I can actually hear rain hitting the roof because it's hitting the glass, no insulation in between us. I can look up and see where a cloud stops and blue sky begins, or catch sunrise/sunset colors otherwise blocked by trees or other homes. On cloudless nights I can see two bright stars when forces of nature wake me out of bed. Should I wish to I could head out and locate constellations, moon phases, or what have you, though I never actually do, preferring more sleep instead.Well, unless it's a clear but not too cold winter evening, of course, since I don't have to wait till the wee hours to see the sky. Besides, summer night skies here are often blocked by general humidity, or in recent years, wildfire smoke drifting down from Canada. Winter cold seems to knock both those out.

Other things that do not manage to impede the skylight view include birds, since they do not seem to like to land or walk on the glass. On the other hand occasionally the local crows become the view as they glide overhead. We do see them walking on the neighbor's roofs, just not anywhere near our skylights. It may be a puzzle to be solved... or just ignored. Leaves don't gather there either. It could become quite the rainbow in the fall if they did, with all the maples we're surrounded by. Even that possibility is waning now that the park management has been cutting down a number of trees, saying they have become diseased.

Some of those trunks are huge. I have fall shots of a huge variety of colors while the trees were still here. If a huge storm did go through, the damage could be incredible, so I can see their point. And for a bonus, fewer trees just might mean fewer squirrel nests on the site, meaning fewer bulbs dug up for squirrel dinners, and even fewer oak trees arising in the middle of plantings around the house, like we've had the last two summers. I get the maple trees popping up all over, since their seeds helicopter their way down to wherever the breeze drops them. But acorns have to be planted by thrifty squirrels since there are no oak trees in fact in the park. Not a one is close as a block away. None were before the cutting, anyway. But at least no tiny trees have tried to sprout around our skylights.

On the whole, despite Mom's lessons in paranoia, I find the skylights much more boon than problem. But ask me again, if and when we are next in line for baseball-sized hail, eh? Somebody (else) will have to be hired for replacing them. I don't do ladders. I don't do roofs. So I sure as hell won't be doing any skylight installations myself.