102 Degrees

Some years back our rooftop air conditioning unit became dysfunctional. It would only take $17,000 to replace it. I don’t think so. Growing up as an Orange County girl I lived where weather didn’t exist. Once, in acute delirium, I stepped away from California to a place where people were known to use the expression, “There’s a front a comin’ in.” Well, in Orange County we don’t say things like that, we just recite the mantra, “Thank God this isn’t Minnesota…they are still shoveling snow!” Back to the dysfunction. We have developed amazing adaptive qualities. We didn’t replace the unit and we have been living without A/C ever since. When anyone in the house complains of the heat I point to the pool. There’s your relief.

Here in Northern California summers can usher in those triple digits. This may be sacrilege to some but I pay homage to the heat. As long as it’s hot that means it is not winter. A high temperature is just the ticket for me. Less clothes to have to wear. I do not go swimming in January. Winter, bad. Not winter, good. That vision of Minnesota. Ugh. Besides all you have to do when the heat persists, assuming you do not have a pool, is step into any Safeway. The refrigerated air inside makes it possible to hang and preserve a side of beef…in the aisles.

Winter is full of foreboding. Always battling cold symptoms and such. Bone-chilling air. Three sweaters layered. Summer serves as respite from the cold and we do not miss our air conditioner. A $17,000 cache could pay for the fun provided by multiple trips to New York City (see NYC).

102 degrees…and climbing. Splash.

 

 

 

Llorona

Spanish for the weeping woman. In Mexican folklore, La Llorona was known to pass through the streets crying over the fact that her children were gone and she was weeping as she went. La Llorona appears as a spirit.

I spent two days in a psychiatric hospital some years back. Psychosis sent me there. It really wasn’t scary, really. It was a very quiet place. Therapists, nurses, counselors. All poised and ready to provide for the residents. Those of us there in need of respite.

My Llorona came to me in the form of my roommate. A woman in residence for undisclosed reasons. Undisclosed to me anyway. She cried. Under her covers. Consistently one entire morning. Enough already. As we were summoned, it was time to eat, I stepped near her bed and urged her to move. Anything to shush her crying. I went on my way, because I do not like cold reheated food.

My La Llorona quit crying and joined us at breakfast. I do not believe that lost children had anything to do with the weeping displayed by my La Llorona sharing space with me at the psych hospital. Who knows? I suppose it isn’t always important what triggers tears. Just make sure breakfast isn’t sacrificed over weeping.