Air conditioning, summer, and deathless prose

This has been an unusual weekend. I haven’t spent it writing creatively; the prose of my 30th NaPo poem has caught up with me, and I have been working on that. And then there’s the fact that the air conditioner broke down on Friday.

Now let me just give you some idea of what that means to us. That will be followed by a meditation on how spoiled I have become for a woman who has weathered whole summers in a house conditioned only by God’s good air. That will be followed by a lament for the lost A/C.

(see the prose influence? Deathless, innit?)

What it means

Right now, according to Weather Underground, the temperature in Nassau is 86 degrees F with 59% humidity. This is very good. In the real summer it would be over 90 and humidity would be 90% as well. And anyway, it feels hotter.

A woman spoiled

Before I married my husband, I lived in a house that had no air conditioning. Zilch. Zero. We had lots and lots of windows (no walls to hang things on) and ceiling fans. And we survived. Oh sure, in the summer I’d go to bed with no clothes on, having rinsed my feet (which get hot very quickly) with water before I climbed into bed and padded carefully on damp soles to bed, where I’d stick them out under the fan to help me fall asleep. And I’d work in the night when it was cool and nap in the day. And drink lots of water and eat very little. (I was thinner then).

But then I married my husband and moved into a house that had central air conditioning. We run it (conservatively) 6 months out of the year. I have lost the tolerance — and preference — for the moist, warm (hot!!) summer air.

Lament for the lost A/C


That about says it all.

The people are supposed to be coming tomorrow to fix it.

Needless to say, I have had very little incentive to sit with a hot laptop on my thighs, writing.

Instead I washed the dog. Outside. With cold water. And got pleasingly soaked myself.


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