To help with transportation and errand needs during my stay in Florida during the time Mom is in the hospital, my sister, Joyce and her husband generously offered the use of a car that is kept in their winter home about a half hour drive from my parents’ residence. I am glad, grateful and relieved to have an extra set of wheels. There was even a full tank of gas. It’s an Intrepid, a solid car and rock steady to drive. I took to it right away. It’s the same car her husband accidentally ran himself over in, but we won’t go into that. We all have these stories.
Unfortunately, as I drove the car from their house back to the home of my parents (about 30 minutes) with the air conditioner going full blast, I was trying to talk myself into believing that it was only because it was 1,000 degrees outside that it just seemed like the air wasn’t getting cooler in the car. But Dad, an ex-refrigeration serviceman, and wise in the way of these things, exclaimed when we drove to the hospital later:
“This air conditioner isn’t working! It’s hot in here!”
In case you did not know, it is bloody hot in south Florida in August. I suffer a mild case of SAD (seasonal affective disorder) not during the winter months when there is less sunlight, but instead when each summer approaches with its weeks of hazy, hot, humid days. The heat is like a great hand pressing my face into the earth. I lose interest in my surroundings. I don’t feel like doing anything and tend to headaches and irritability. I hate peeling my clothes off my sweaty, sticky body.
I really, really hate the heat.
So by the standards of the Universe, it seems totally appropriate that I should be driving an un-air-conditioned car in south Florida in August. Whatever it is that I need to learn, I had better do it fast before my body is nothing more than a puddle in the driveway.
If you will excuse me, I am going to get some ice cubes for my glass of wine, which has also suddenly become: