Beating the Heat

If you aren’t personally experiencing it, you’ve surely heard about the nasty heat we’ve been experiencing in the South. Thankfully, it did not get to 109 yesterday. (Or maybe it did. I stopped paying attention once it reached 106.)

In any case, I thought I’d share my top ten beat-the-heat suggestions.

1.  Make iced hot chocolate. I know “iced hot chocolate” is a paradoxical name, but you’re too hot to notice or care. So, put 3 cups ice cubes, 1/2c chocolate syrup, 1 c. fat-free evaporated milk, ½ t. vanilla in the blender. Blend. Drink. Bliss.

2.  Go to work. My daughter’s doing research in a computer lab this summer. Because of all the computers, the room is cold. My daughter brings a sweater to work.

3.  Mooch your friends’ swimming pools. Though after a week of extreme heat, the pools are turning into saunas.

4.  Iced tea and a good book. I’m reading The Lifeboat by Charlotte Rogan. BTW, iced tea is even better with some bourbon added. Sadly, we don’t have any.

6.  Wear a Scarlett O’Hara hat when you go outside. (Yes, I’ve been doing a bit gardening, mostly watering.) You can vamp out in the heat and say, “Great balls of fire!” (hiccup) Poor Scarlett had too many iced teas with bourbon.

7.  Okay, I owe you five more suggestions. But it’s too hot. So why don’t you share some suggestions with me? Thanks.

Ten Things I Hate About Not Having AC

1. Sweat. I’ve discovered that you have sweat glands everywhere. Enough said.

2. Air. The air doesn’t just get hot. It gets fetid. The humidity becomes thick and sluggish. And you begin smelling odd odors that turn your stomach. And you wonder—okay, maybe you don’t—but I wonder if there’s ever been a murder in the house because things smell like rotting bodies.

3. Sleeping. Sharing a bedroom with lots of people. We’re all crammed into one bedroom because the wall air conditioner cools only one room. We don’t have any snorers, but I’m a very light sleeper. Every wheeze, deep breath, and flutter of a sheet wakes me up.

4. AF. Now I have to listen to Artemis Fowl when I go to bed at night. Don’t get me wrong, I loved most of the AF books. But I don’t like to listen to them when I fall asleep. Matt and Jake do. They both have difficulty sleeping so they listen to books on tape until they fall asleep. It might work for me too, except that they keep the volume low and it sounds like the buzz of a persistent fly.

5. Irritability. As air conditioning dependent people, we haven’t learned the sanctifying art of dealing with the heat. Instead of developing patience, we tend to scowl and gripe. Jacob believes in the sanctifying effect of playing Wii all day to prevent snappishness. I don’t. Like I said—irritablitiy.

6. Fluids. I drink tea by the gallon full. For example, it’s 9 am and I’ve already had three glasses of iced tea. Thankfully, I don’t like mine sweet or I’d need insulin by the end of the day. Time to buy stock in Lipton.

7. Housework. No one wants to do housework. It’s not like anyone normally wants to do housework, but now you’d think I was asking them to gouge out their eyes.

8. Cooking. Turning on a stove or an oven seems like sacrilege. On the other hand, the guys don’t think that gazpacho is a complete meal.

9. Dog. Our dog wears a thick black coat year round. Not bad in the winter. Miserable in the summer. More miserable without AC. So Jezebel sleeps in our bedroom. But Jezebel thinks that we should get up when the sun is up. The sun gets up really early down here in Chattanooga, and after a night of Artemis Fowl followed by waking every half an hour when someone coughs or rolls over...well, you get the idea—Jez and I do not agree about the time to get up in the morning.

10. Waiting. The worst thing is waiting by the phone for the AC guys to call and tell you what day they might be able to show up and replace the AC. (It’s almost as bad as waiting to hear back from a literary agent who asked for a full submission of your latest novel. Almost as bad. But not quite.)


News Flash: the AC guys finally called. They can be here on...Friday. I'm telling myself that a week without AC is no biggie. But I'm having a hard time believing it. 

Our Little Monkey Girl

One of the other “blessings” of very hot weather (notice I didn’t say ridiculously hot weather or infernally hot weather—see, I’m embracing the heat) is that my dog can’t stop shedding. She’s been shedding for months. Normally, a Lab sheds fur for a few weeks. But, Jezebel is going on two months plus. In fact, the boys’ new fun activity is pulling out hunks of fur while they watch reruns of Star Trek. This might be amusing to them, and the dog loves it, but, they forget what they’ve done by the end of the movie, and they bail leaving piles of black fur all over my bedroom floor. Of course, then there’s the time the piles of fur got wrapped up in Jez’s blanket along with clean laundry (it happened to be piled in a chair where some nameless male child wanted to sit), my pillow, etc. Needless to say, I had a conversation with the boys. They said, “Oops. Sorry.”

You’d think Jez would be completely naked by now. But she’s not, instead she’s still got a thick coat except on her tummy where pink skin is starting to show through. Ariel calls her “Monkey Girl” because her belly looks just like a monkey’s. The boys aren’t fond of Jez’s new nickname—you don’t call a big black Lab with a spiked collar, “Monkey Girl.” That’s like calling a Rottweiler “Tinkerbell.” It just doesn’t work unless you’re going for the irony factor.

Right now, Jez is out running with Calvin. She has to get in her morning run regarding of how hot it is. Afterwards, she comes home with her tongue hanging to the floor. I tease Cal that eventually either he or she will trip over it. Then, Jez flops down to the floor and closes her eyes—she’s done for the morning. Cal’s tried to run without her, thinking the heat and humidity is too much for her. But now, Jez won’t let him out of her sight. She won’t even eat her breakfast because she’s so anxious that he might go running without her. In fact, first thing in the morning, she whines at the bedroom door because she’s afraid Cal might sneak out the back door of our bedroom to go running without her.

Maybe it’s not the heat that making her lose her fur, maybe it’s anxiety making her go bald. Poor Little Monkey!

Embrace the Heat!

In my last post, I complained about the heat. And it’s still hot. But here’s the thing, I’ve decided to embrace the heat. You see, I’ve lived places like Southern California and Northern California where the differences in the seasons are measured in minor temperature variations and the amount of rain that falls. Those things don’t mark seasons—at least, not very well. I like seeing the passage of time, knowing that everything changes.

I’d much rather endure the heat then give up the seasons. Besides, I learned one thing in New England—weather is a character-builder. I can put up with the bitter cold (Once when it was negative 70--as in below zero--with the wind chill factor, Cal and I stood outside in our pajamas to prove our toughness—a blast of Arctic winds ended it quickly.) But heat is harder for me to bear, so this is my opportunity for sanctification. When I’m old and gray (though my kids think I’m old now and I do have a few gray hairs), I can just see myself sitting in a rocking chair and telling my grandkids, “You think this is hot? You should’ve been here in the summer of ’09. By golly, it was in the 100s in June. Yep, those were the good ole days!”

My new slogan is “Embrace the Heat!” Of course, right now I’m enjoying the heat from the study of my air conditioned home. But, hey, it’s a step in the right direction.

High Temperatures

Yesterday it was 98 degrees. My grass seedlings wept and only survived because I drown them in water. The only living things enjoying the heat are my hedge of knockout roses—they’re in a blooming nirvana. Today, I’d like to avoid thermometers—it’s easier to handle the heat if you don’t know how hot it is.

Only I can’t avoid thermometers unless I close my eyes when I drive—the doctor’s office on nearest cross-street proclaims the temperature and a “coupon” for $500 off a breast augmentation surgery. The doctor is a plastic surgeon. He also advertises getting ready for “bikini weather.” His slogan is “Diet and exercise—yuck. Liposuction—yeah.” I’m not sure which advertisement I find more offensive. The fact that he (yes, I’m a sexist and assume the doctor is male) thinks women need their glands enlarged or the fact that he wants people to believe that the way to deal with excess adipose tissue is to suck it out of your body with a glorified vacuum.

But wait…I was talking about the heat. (Sorry, went crazy on a tangent there for a moment.) Back to the temperature. It’s in the high 90s outside, maybe even pushing 100. Inside the air conditioner is running, but we still have people living at 100 degrees. Matt still has his upper respiratory infection and a fever just over 103. Thankfully, ibuprophen keeps it down to 101. However, we’ve added another malady to our house. Ariel now has a fever and throat infection. I’m either going to learn patience really soon or start buying Sam’s Club-sized cartons of masks and gloves.

For the Children

Just so we’re clear, in the South, the spring lies. Everything is so amazingly beautiful beginning in March. The city of Chattanooga blooms in a cornucopia of flowers. Even the embankments on the Interstates flower with pear trees, daffodils, red poppies, etc. It is breathtaking and you can’t help but think, “This is paradisiacal!” The air is crisp, the clouds are fluffy, and the ground buds with life. But (and this is a big but), then calendar segues into summer. The temperature rises, the flowers shrivel, and the humidity crushes. And you know that it was all a lie. This is not paradise—paradise could never be this hot! In fact, it reminds me of, well, the nether regions.

Today was the first nasty day of the summer. I have friends who said stuff like “Oh, today’s going to be so hot.” I said the same thing, but I said it with a scowl. They said it with giddy anticipation. Clearly, early dementia has set in. Why would someone get excited about temperatures that make the ground shrink and crack? And levels of humidity so high that Harper Lee refers to Southern women together with their face powder as frosted cupcakes? Or, atmospheric pressure levels so high that they have to call an “Orange Alert” to keep people from using their lawnmowers and polluting the atmosphere? Why does that make Southerners giddy? After all, if that’s so amazing and wonderful, why does everyone have an air conditioner?

I will admit that I’m not an unbiased observer. I’ve been heard to say, “I’d rather go through a New England winter twice than go through a New England summer once.” And, of course, a Southern summer is a New England summer on steroids—the nasty, illegal, get-you-suspended-from-major-league-baseball steroids.

But then, it occurred to me that it’s a matter of attitude. Maybe if I embrace the heat, it’s a way of conquering the roasting temps. Yeah, that might work. From now on, I will say, “Oh, how wonderful—it’s going to be 105 in the shade with 99.9% humidity. It’s just like a Finnish sauna, only it’s free!” Of course, I’ll be saying that from the comfort of my air conditioned home. If you question me on that discrepancy, I’ll say, “It’s for the children.”

The Cause

I’ve often thought those Green Bay Packer fans were, well, a bit over the top. After all, they sit through blizzard-like snow conditions with yellow hats shaped like cheese wedges on their heads. Sometimes, they sit there shirtless—apparently, it shows their devotion to “the team.”

Never in my nightmares, did I consider myself that “deranged.” Not until today. This afternoon, I’m braving 87 degree heat with humidity that can only be described as liquid air to go sit in a park. And I’m not doing this in shorts and a tee-shirt. No. I’m doing this in a fully-lined Regency gown and hat. Not to mention the requisite undergarment that prevents me from taking anything other than a shallow breath. (Though I think that might be Ariel’s fault—I can’t reach the lacing to tie up and back. So, she laces and laces and pulls and pulls. Ariel could teach Mammy a thing or too about corsets.)

Why am I braving insufferable heat and humidity wearing clothing rightfully discarded by our modern civilization? There can only be one reason…Jane Austen. We are having our monthly Jane Austen Society meeting. And, assuming that I don’t pass out and have to be taken to the Emergency Room for hyperventilation (can’t breathe deeply so I have to take lots of short breaths) or heat stroke, I should have some pictures to post.

The Ice Pit

My parents have come to spend the holidays with us. The kids are thrilled, of course. And it’s not just because they love their grandparents so much, although they do. And it’s not because my mother showers them with exotic chocolate, which she does (and they love). And it’s not because my parents will take us out for dinner, which they will (we take the kids out once a year, so it’s a big deal for them). One of the biggest thrills for the kids when my parents visit is that I turn up the thermostat. My mom has cold intolerance, so I can no longer keep the heater set at 62. Instead, it’s set at 68. From the kids’ responses, you’d think they were in Hawaii. No longer do I hear things like, “Hmm, guess I’m going to have to go outside to warm up.” No longer do I see children walking around the house in snowcoats. And no longer does Ariel point out to me that she’s wearing flannel pajama pants under her jeans. In self-defense, I must say that normally I crank the fireplace from the time we get up to the time we go to bed. And by afternoon the living room is a balmy 72 degrees. I’ve pointed this out to the children, but they sneer and tell me it doesn’t matter how warm the living room is because the heat never penetrates the Ice Pit. (I will admit that once I actually saw my breath in the Ice Pit, but I haven’t told the kids that.)

What is the Ice Pit? It’s the name the children have given to Calvin’s and my bedroom. Why do they even care you ask? Because the television and the Wii are in our bedroom, so the kids can’t play a game or watch a movie without descending into "arctic chill" of the Ice Pit. And why is the room so horribly cold? Well, that is a combination of many factors beyond the setting of the thermostat. Our room is hidden from sunlight by a massive 100 year old Southern magnolia tree, which the kids despise since it’s always dropping something on the lawn that they have to clean up (flowers in the spring, pods in the summer, and leaves in the fall). The other heat challenge to the Ice Pit is that whoever was the heating engineer for the house obviously got his degree from an Internet-fake-yourself-a-degree web site. And thus, with that superior education only designed one heating zone for the entire house. Consequently, balmy in the living room means the Pit is never heated.

I’ve told the kids that the room isn’t so bad; after all, I sleep in it every night. “Yeah,” Ariel said, “and do you notice that you wear an undershirt, flannel pajamas and wool socks and you sleep on flannel sheets, under two blankets, and with a down comforter over the top. Plus, I’ve heard Dad complain that he ends up sleeping on the edge of bed because you scoot over to his warmth during the night.”

Okay, so maybe the Ice Pit is a little cold, and maybe their little fingers ice over when they play Wii, but last month our gas bill was $40 instead of $120! I can buy a lot of blankets for the Ice Pit with that. Plus, spring’s right around the corner—there’s only 3 months of winter left to go.