As I'm writing this, the temperature in Boston is 102, and the real-feel is 103: Day 3 of our heat wave. I went out for lunch earlier, and felt like the neighborhood had been retrofitted to become the world's largest clothes dryer. Even so, my dress and I weren't getting any drier.
While I still agree with Henry James that "summer afternoon" are the two most beautiful words in the English language, "wind-chill factor" is right up there, too.
Why can't we bottle up all this excess heat and store it for January, when we crave it? If only we had heated sidewalks then instead of now. Imagine: no snow or ice to make you slip, and you'd barely need a coat as long as you stayed on the main drag.
I feel sorry for the burning feet of all the dogs being walked in this weather. Shouldn't they be wearing boots?
I went to splash some cold water on my face just now, and found this:
We keep two ancient air conditioners running on low speed almost all the time, and at fairly high temperature settings. It's tolerable but not really what you'd call cool, and while no one's roasting, we're not exactly comfortable, either. So we all lie around languishing to some degree, and no one languishes as exquisitely as Possum.
Yesterday, J. Crew introduced its fall line on jcrew.com: tweed hacking jackets, cozy cashmere sweaters, corduroy pants and shorts, tights. There's hope.
And with that hope held firmly in my sleepy, heat-addled brain, I'm about to slip on my swimsuit and head for that pool at our friend's building. There's a strange mini-ecosystem around it. Hot and sunny as it is everywhere else, it will be shady, windy, and cooler there. The water is always warm compared to the air. And it's always raining a little, which we can't figure out. But who cares? It's a pool!