Holding on for monsoon

The Art Trailer is a dark cocoon. The windows are now blocked with reflectix and cardboard to ward off the afternoon sun. In addition to the window coverings, box fans have been strategically placed in the main living areas to blow cold air around corners and walls. It's working. Instead of being 91°F inside the Trailer, it's only 88°F.  

In my room, three fans run constantly. Fans alone won't cut it, though. I learned from my first summer in Tucson that the answer to extreme heat is evaporative cooling. That is how I survived the days without AC when the temperature outside was 115°F and I had to wait for the AC technician to save me. Now, well into my third summer in Tucson, I know the trick. I wrap dripping wet underwear around my head and neck.  

Days are barely tolerable. Nights are endless. Without wet cloths on my head, stomach, and feet, I'd be laying on the floor panting like a dog. The good news is that cocoons have a lot of potential. Whatever grows in them might turn out to have a beautiful set of wings.

Now, I could end the blogpost with that happy poetic thought, and if I were seeking an awwww out of you, that is probably what I would do. But you might know me by now. I have often been sentimental, but not today. It's too damn hot. 

Monsoon 2023 is overdue, and I'm cranky. I don't know why, exactly. So we get a few thunderstorms. It will be just as hot in between, with the added gift of high humidity. I'm embarrassed to admit I am tired of nothing but blue sky. Wait, that's not true. I would welcome blue sky if it came with reasonable temperatures. I'm bored with the heat, that is what it is. I want a break.

Over the past couple weeks, crews blocked our roads and driveways with big trucks and cranes. They were trimming the telephone pole palms in the mobile home park. In high winds, big dead palm fronds go flying. I can imagine why: Flying fronds could take out a window or maybe knock an unsteady unbalanced wobbly old-ish person off their feet. Just saying. Anyway, I was in awe. Those guys were out there in the burning sun when the temperature was 108°F, bundled up in long sleeves and long pants, helmets, and neck scarves. How do they do it? 

The sun feels like my enemy. I always thought I was a creature of warmth and sun, but I guess I'm a lizard only within a certain range. My comfort zone is narrow. I can walk around the park in 102°F, but not until the sun goes down. Now I live in a fortress, barricaded against the threat, waiting for the insidious, relentless invasive foe in the sky to sink below the horizon. 

Leaving the burrow brings of feelings of existential angst. Last night I ventured out in the hot dark gloaming to wash my car's windshield. Then I walked around the park in the dark, trying to watch where I put my feet while I looked in people's windows. Many of the windows are dark: Their owners wisely fled the Tucson summer. However, many others stay put year round. Some of the perennials (I know for a fact) keep their thermostats set at 78°F. Imagine that. I can't.