It is August here in Dallas and it is pretty much how you would expect Dallas to be in August. It is hot. And when I say "hot", I don't mean the ordinary hot that one reads about in books where the hero rolls up his sleeves and mops his brown with a handkerchief and the herione fans herself with whatever is handy in the way of coquettish devices. No, I mean the kind of hot that is usually accompanied by showers of sparks from giant crucibles of molten steel, tended to by men suited up as if to slay a fire-breathing dragon. For much of the summer, the thermometer has routinely read 105 or above. Though I don't think we'll break the record of that hellish summer of 1980, we're coming damn close to it.
As you might imagine, this has rendered almost the entire population of Texas housebound. No one even wants to venture out in this stuff. This is the Texas equivalent of winter in International Falls, Minnesota. No one gets outside unless they have to. Whereas a Minnesotan might suffer from a tongue frozen to a flagpole, we suffer from leaving our fingerprints on the steering wheels of our cars. All in all, its probably a toss-up as to which is more unpleasant.
All of this has led me to make a decision I never thought I'd make. I'm thinking about leaving Texas. I love Texas. I love its pioneer spirit and its "don't tread on me" attitude. I love its republicanism (as in "The Republic of Texas") and its can-do spirit. I love the friendliness and down-to-earthiness of its people. I love its opportunity and spirit of optimism. But this heat has broken me. I long for four seasons. I long to be able to go outside in the summer and actually sit in a chaise lounge without being cooked in place or being carried off by mosquitos (or both). I long to drive without having to hold the steering wheel with oven mitts. I want to live where pretty flowers grow without constant watering and shielding from the sun. I want to live where I can spend an hour outside working in the yard without having to be rushed to the hospital to be treated for heat stroke.
So, once the daughter has graduated from college and has settled down somewhere, me and the Missus are packing up the covered wagon and heading either nor' by nor'-east or up to the Pacific northwest. Both of these places have their drawbacks, of course. The Pacific Northwest is stacked to the rafters with bead-wearing, bong-toking, bath-avoiding hippies. The northeast is populated with people named Biff and Muffy who speak without unclenching their jaws or separating their teeth and who look at people with disdain so pure that it could be bottled without any further distillation and sold as either hard liquor or an alternative fuel. But I am beginning to think that I could tolerate all of those things if mollified by the presence of four seasons.
Ask me again in four years. My tune may have changed.
As you might imagine, this has rendered almost the entire population of Texas housebound. No one even wants to venture out in this stuff. This is the Texas equivalent of winter in International Falls, Minnesota. No one gets outside unless they have to. Whereas a Minnesotan might suffer from a tongue frozen to a flagpole, we suffer from leaving our fingerprints on the steering wheels of our cars. All in all, its probably a toss-up as to which is more unpleasant.
All of this has led me to make a decision I never thought I'd make. I'm thinking about leaving Texas. I love Texas. I love its pioneer spirit and its "don't tread on me" attitude. I love its republicanism (as in "The Republic of Texas") and its can-do spirit. I love the friendliness and down-to-earthiness of its people. I love its opportunity and spirit of optimism. But this heat has broken me. I long for four seasons. I long to be able to go outside in the summer and actually sit in a chaise lounge without being cooked in place or being carried off by mosquitos (or both). I long to drive without having to hold the steering wheel with oven mitts. I want to live where pretty flowers grow without constant watering and shielding from the sun. I want to live where I can spend an hour outside working in the yard without having to be rushed to the hospital to be treated for heat stroke.
So, once the daughter has graduated from college and has settled down somewhere, me and the Missus are packing up the covered wagon and heading either nor' by nor'-east or up to the Pacific northwest. Both of these places have their drawbacks, of course. The Pacific Northwest is stacked to the rafters with bead-wearing, bong-toking, bath-avoiding hippies. The northeast is populated with people named Biff and Muffy who speak without unclenching their jaws or separating their teeth and who look at people with disdain so pure that it could be bottled without any further distillation and sold as either hard liquor or an alternative fuel. But I am beginning to think that I could tolerate all of those things if mollified by the presence of four seasons.
Ask me again in four years. My tune may have changed.
