The Love Shack used to have awnings, removed a couple years ago when George painted the place. It used to be gray. Now it's taupe. With blue doors. And no awnings. It looks naked. With no awnings between me and the western sun, in May I batten down against the onslaught: portable mylar sun shades hung from cup hooks, then the regular window shade (futile), and drapes. Well, they aren't really drapes, they're actually Home Depot paint drop cloths. Natural color cotton/linen-type stuff, hanging on a thick dowel from the top of the window. It's a wall o' drapes in name only, doing a half-assed job of blocking the sun.
Right now, the drapes on the front window are glowing a lovely golden color, like a fireball is coming straight at us. I feel a little like I'm in a burrow, cowering in the face of a very bright searchlight. Hot air rushes in through the barely open window. The ceiling fan is valiantly tossing hot air against my skin. The temperature outside is dropping, and soon I will throw open all five of my windows. Later I will go outside and sprinkle water on my parched squash plants. But it will be hours before the air in here cools back down into the low 80s. I have taken off my hat and socks. My skin is exposed. My blood is finally circulating. My hands actually feel warm. I can move my fingers. My feet are alive. I laugh when I notice that it's only 70° in Los Angeles. Eat out your little Hollywood hearts.
Tomorrow I hear clouds will ease in from the south. As I am struggling to get up at 5:30 a.m. to return to work after my summer vacation, it might actually rain a little. Some may breathe a sigh of relief, but not I. I will begin to fret. In the meantime, the cat is sacked out on the floor, sprawled like a shooting victim. He knows what to do in the heat: Don't move. It's siesta time.
