“Little Krafty Sunshine”

 

EVERY SUMMER I ENJOY SITTING OUTSIDE in the sunshine even if it is hot and humid. Call me crazy. OK! OK! No need to do so with such enthusiasm. It was a rhetorical thingy anyway. A simple nod of agreement would have been sufficient.

No matter your opinion, it is a fact – I like the hot and humid days of summer. Do I sweat? Sure I do, like a nun in a whorehouse, but all I can tell you is that it all feels good on my skin. It physically feels good.

I have mentioned this to my Doctors and they just look at me and shrug,

“Just don’t overdo it,” they say to me. I don’t stay in the hot sun long enough to burn. That doesn’t feel good.

Give me a cool drink and a spot where I can get some sunshine and I am one happy little Geezer.

I’ve never found many people who share my affinity for the summer heat. I don’t think that there are too many of us this side of Casablanca or Timbuktu. Maybe there was some cosmic snafu and I was supposed to be born a Bedouin. Perhaps some signals got crossed and I ended up making my debut in Cleveland, Ohio – “The Marrakech of the Midwest.” I just made that up. Cleveland is never called that. “The Mistake on the Lake” maybe, but never the other. Let’s just called that some twisted version of Poetic License.

Actually, the summertime in Cleveland was rather pleasant in my book. Everyone else living there complained about the heat and humidity – there were plenty of both. The weather in the winter, however, sucked socks. That was what sent me packing up and heading to California for 25 years.

My only mistake in that move was dropping anchor in Northern California. The people there complain when it gets above 70°. I should have turned left at Sacramento and headed south. The climate in the Santa Barbara area and in San Diego is just about ideal. I skipped LA. It may be warm, but it is also unfit for human habitation – mainly because of all the humans habituating there.

But NOW, today, June of 2018, I am sitting outside in Terre Haute (That’s French for “Look at him sweat.”) and enjoying the tingle of the sun’s rays on my skin. I like it. I just wish we could hit the lottery so we could afford a little “pied a sol” in the Tropics – a place where my wife, the lovely and definitely temperate, Dawn, could stash me when it gets too warm for her

Those lottery tickets we have stuck to the refrigerator door would give us about $180 million after taxes. I could make a very nice little semi-air conditional nest for us both. A vegetable crisper climate for her and a George Foreman Grill of a patio for me.

We will soon be heading down to Texas where the temperatures will be nudging into three figures on some days. I will have to finagle a way to get away from the perpetual Arctic Air Conditioning that is everywhere. How am I supposed to explain frostbite to my Doctor in the middle of summer?

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