Replacing windows, and thoughts about light

We have to replace the rotting windows in the church, including the five-foot round window in the loft and about twelve awning windows in the basement, and of course we have to come up with a solution for protecting and weatherproofing the stained glass windows. The ones in the basement are fairly straight-forward---get something that keeps out the cold and wet and can be opened to allow fresh air in, preferably something better than the current “propped open with a stick” option we have now. The stained glass windows will be next year’s problem, and something for a designer to figure out because they’ll have to be custom-made around the wooden supportive “Y” in the centre. I can put them at the back of my mind for now.

The window in the loft requires more thoughtful decision-making. It needs to be able to open to ventilate the heat-collecting high ceiling. But when a window is five feet in diameter, opening even half of it poses some logistical problems. Round windows are tricky to make into sliders, due to geometry. A regular sash opening isn’t possible. We’ve been shown one option that requires swiveling half the window (shaped like a half moon) around in a track to cover the other half. This is theoretically fine, but glass is heavy, and sliding that much of it would take great physical strength, and I may not be able to do it when I’m 80. Anything that swings or cranks inward will take up a lot of space, sticking out into the room by 2.5 feet. (I’m a klutz. I’ll be banging into it constantly.) If it opens outward, it could turn into the glass equivalent of a sail in a high wind. The manufacturer says that anything bigger than four feet across is not covered by a warranty and they can’t guarantee it won’t fail. They do guarantee that it won’t fall out of its opening onto passers-by, however, which at least is something.

The one thing I do know about the loft window is that I don’t want it to be stained glass or frosted or covered in cross-hatching. I want to be able to stand at the window and see an unobstructed view of the sky. It has become clear to me just how important it is that I be able to see the sunrise and sunset. I hadn’t realized quite how much time I spend with my nose pressed to the bay window of our city house, watching the sky. The streaks of salmon and crimson, the pearly pale blue. The fascinating formations of cloud, from puffy profiteroles to buttermilk curdles to stretched-too-thin quilt batt. The ability to glance outside and judge whether I need to water the garden or bring in the potted lemon tree.

I struggle in winter with Seasonal Affective Disorder. I don’t think clearly, I slump into depression, I lose interest in everything, and I make irrational or impulsive decisions about buying houses (October), moving countries (October), switching jobs, (November), and getting married (December…hmmm. Best not to read too much into it, I guess!). I was part of a study at Sunnybrook Hospital looking at SAD’s effect on short-term memory. Windowless rooms make me short of breath, gray days make me semi-homicidal, and my soul craves light the way my body craves water on a hot day. If I’m to spend any amount of time working in that loft, I need it to be well illuminated.