Tuesday, August 3, 2010
See that picture up there? That's the external thermometer in my car when I left Target this afternoon. When I first got in the car, it read 104 degrees, then cooled off to the much better 102 degrees once I started driving.
This kind of heat makes me remember things.
Things like that quote from the movie Biloxi Blues: "Man it's hot. It's like Africa hot. Tarzan couldn't take this kind of hot."
And the one from Good Morning Vietnam (warning, a little adult language ahead): "It's hot! Damn hot! Real hot! Hottest things is my shorts. I could cook things in it. A little crotch pot cooking." Well, tell me what it feels like. "Fool, it's hot! I told you again! Were you born on the sun? It's damn hot! It's so damn hot, I saw little guys, their orange robes burst into flames. It's that hot! Do you know what I'm talking about?"
This kind of heat makes me remember days when I was about Charlie's age. We'd frequently visit my grandparents whose house didn't have air condition. The windows on the back of the house were hinged on the top and tilted up to open. I would go in my Aunt Molly's room with the lights off. I would lie on the bed, as perfectly still as possible, and try to catch any wisp of breeze that might come through, as well as any snippet of conversation from the adults sitting on the back porch near my aunt's windows.
This kind of heat makes me remember last summer when I weighed 30 pounds more than I do now and how I could not even imagine going outside for longer than a minute or two because the heat was just so unbearable. Yet tonight, I took Gabby for a 20-minute walk before both of us gave up and came inside to icy cool air and cold gulps of water.
This kind of heat makes me remember last winter, when the neighborhood streets were deserted -- no one playing outside, kept in then by blizzard-ish winds, not blistering heat.
This is the kind of heat that makes me expect that on some city street somewhere, firefighters might open the hydrant and invite all the neighbor kids to splash in it for some short relief.
It's the kind of heat that makes me think that the only possible thing I might serve for dinner is popsicles, that makes me thankful for central air, and has me counting down the days to crisp, jeans and sweater weather of fall.
It's that hot.