August Lowers My Expectations and My Thermostat

In June, summer still seems like a good idea. The days are long, everything is green, and I imagine myself spending more time outside. By August, I have two goals: keep everything alive and stay reasonably comfortable while doing it.

Today it’s supposed to be 101 degrees.

I walk Gabby before 8 in the morning and after 8 at night. She won’t fetch in this weather, but there is still pee mail to check, and some of it apparently requires careful consideration. I’m encouraging her to skim.

Once we’re home, I water the plants, feed the birds, and put fresh water in the birdbath. I’m basically running a hydration station for everything living around my house.

Then I go inside.

I feel for people who don’t have that option: landscapers, delivery drivers, construction workers, and anyone else working outside in triple-digit temperatures. I keep a cooler with water, Gatorade, snacks, and sodas for anyone working around my house.

Some days, my house is a hydration station. Fresh water for the neighborhood dogs, fresh water in the bird bath, water the plants. And every three days, fresh hummingbird nectar.

Yesterday I worked at Millstone. I understand why I was at a garden center on a day like that. It’s my job.

What I couldn’t understand were all the people who showed up voluntarily to buy bushes.

Not to look at bushes. They were buying them to plant yesterday.

I was grateful for the sales but praying they didn’t get heat stroke.

We sold more slush mixes in one day than we have all summer. That made perfect sense. Buying a bush and announcing that you’re going home to dig a hole and plant it when it’s over100 degrees outside made considerably less sense.

I will sell it to you. That’s my job.

I will also remind you to water it every day and stay hydrated.

I was disappointed in myself because I’d forgotten to bring an egg. I wanted to see if I could fry one on the new pavement. It seemed like the only reasonable outdoor activity available.

Even parking becomes complicated. You find that precious patch of shade beneath a tree, congratulate yourself, then come back and discover your car covered in tree sap.

By the time I got home, I had no intention of adding more heat to my life.

Dinner was tuna salad and watermelon. Later, I ate dairy-free banana ice cream standing at the kitchen counter. I almost never eat ice cream, but apparently 100-degree weather can change a person.

Even my tea reflects the season. I normally drink unsweetened iced tea, but in summer I mix sweet and unsweetened with extra lemon. In the South, how you take your tea says something about your character.

I’ve also caught up on a remarkable amount of Netflix and Apple TV.

Somewhere along the way, we got the idea that we’re supposed to seize every day. Get outside. Do something. Make memories.

You go on with your bad self.

I’ll be inside, in my chair, with the thermostat doing the heavy lifting.

Which brings me to Willis Carrier, inventor of modern air conditioning. I don’t think we show this man nearly enough appreciation. Surely, we could set aside one day in August to honor Willis.

I have sympathy for anyone whose air conditioner decides August is the appropriate time to die. A friend’s unit went out Wednesday. By Thursday night, they had spent $8,000 on a new one.

They were broke, but they were cool.

I’m sure October will eventually arrive. I’ll cook again. Gabby can return to outdoor fetch sessions.

But not today.

The plants have been watered. The birds have fresh water. Gabby has been walked. There’s iced tea in the refrigerator, and Netflix remembers exactly where I left off.

I’m not much on seizing the day in August.

I poke it with a stick and pour water on it.