“Hot enough for ya?“

Har-dee-har-har. I used to force a smile back in my working days when a visiting reporter considered that a good conversation starter as we began our walking tour. Especially back in the summer of 1999, when I was pregnant with James all summer, it was a challenge. I tried not to complain much, though, as my communications position was mostly an office job.

I’ve heard from several friends and family members this week, the hottest days of the summer for this part of the country, with their version of the above question in the much-easier-to-answer “Aren’t you glad you’re retired?”

It should come as no surprise that our treasure trove of Mom’s poetry includes her thoughts about hot weather.

Tableau

Already
in dumb rage the heat rises
like dough around the house.
Jays fret and the cat, imprisoned,
bakes in his fur. Stunned by the sun
the lawn is gravel to my feet.

We are all statues here, reading of
Iceland, listening to Smetana and
Handel, taking small comfort in a
snapshot of the snow witch in the park.

~ Joan Vayo, July 10, 1973

In 1973, we were still living in Fairfield, Connecticut, but would soon be on our way to Indiana. It wasn’t until I fell asleep in the sun reading The Pearl (I’ll never forgive you John Steinbeck!) and ended up with a severe sunburn that I realized how much farther south we now lived. The equator was still far away, but … definitely closer.

Farmer Gary isn’t exactly retired, but he’s no longer milking cows. I remember all the cooling contraptions he rigged together over the years during the hot weather to try and help keep the mama-moos from overheating.

Stay safe in this weather, watch out for the pets (our Nicodemus was an indoor/outdoor cat), and join us in happily anticipating the cooling days of autumn.

“Tableau” © 1973 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

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