You may not know this – despite the e-mail blasts and the tattoos my friends insist on getting in my name – but I cling to the Old Ways (ie home trepanning and milling my own soap).
OK. I don’t mill my own soap.
Here we are, my friends: it’s the end of June, and I just may turn the air conditioning on.
I mentioned that to some friends today, that I was thinking of turning the air on. They laughed, because, ha ha, what kind of nut hasn't turned on their air conditioning yet?
One look at my sincere and sweat-beaded face and they knew I was telling the truth.
There were limited options, when I was growing up, if you were hot. You could do as my mother advised, which was to take a cool shower, roll yourself in talcum powder and then lay on your crisp, line-dried sheets with a fan on, thus creating a cool and dry environment for yourself.
Or, you could do as my father did, which would be to take as hot a shower as you could stand, thus making whatever temperature it was outside cool by comparison.
Air conditioning was like a dream to us, part of the exciting “Let’s go to the movies!” package on those really hot days. One of my aunts – the same woman who taught me that if you whistled in the dark the ghosts couldn’t get you – used to drive us around town with the windows up so that “the rich folks” would think we had air conditioning in our car, something that was, in our eyes, the epitome of wealth.
But that’s what happens when you come from no-air-conditioning people – first you glamorize those who do; and then you find ways around it. And honestly, whether your way of dealing with it is running through the sprinkler, sitting in front of a fan with your swimsuit on, or running naked down the alley from Brent's house to Sybil's, you won’t remember being this hot when winter rolls around (or until the photos start showing up on Facebook).
It’s 92F out there right now. That’s 33.3C. It’s to hit 97/36 by Friday, which is much easier to take when described, at least for this gal, in Celsius. Ninety-seven degrees Fahrenheit sounds like the temperature you pre-set the oven to. Thirty-six degrees Celsius sounds friendly, like there might be a decorative scarf or some brand-new socks involved.
Hmmm. Somebody remind me of how nice I think “36 degrees” sounds, come November or so.
GREAT AMERICAN ECLIPSE FROM OUR BACK YARD
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