Take Me to the River

So if I can't have the ocean, at least there's the river.

It's high summer in the south, meaning it was already 90 degrees when I left the house at 10:15, but there was a fine breeze as I zig-zagged my way to Brown's Island trying to stick mostly to shady streets.

Once on Brown's Island, I saw a crew working on the stage but it was hard to tell if they were dismantling it or setting it up. I know Friday Cheers is over, so perhaps there's something else on the horizon. One guy was singing at the top of his lungs as he hammered.

Of course, the best part of being on the island was that I was that much closer to the cooler breezes coming off the water as I made a bee-line for the pipeline walkway.

The first thing to catch my eye as I trudged down the sandy path to the river was a full-size tent set up under the trestle. I've noticed people living under some of the concrete overhangs further on before, so maybe this is their summer home.

Given how dry it's been, I had no fear that the pipeline walkway would be underwater and it wasn't; in fact, it was exposed as much as I've seen it in a year. And the walkway was uncrowded so I didn't pass any other people until I got near the beachy stretch and saw two men, one on the sand, another on the walkway.

Just past them, I slid down off the walkway to the little sandy beach intending to stick my feet in the water.

First thing I saw was pure Richmond: a girl's red underwear and a guy's black briefs hanging from a tree branch at the water's edge. Only thing missing were crushed PBR cans.

Just as I was removing my shoes, the guy on the walkway called down to warn me that he'd seen a snake down where I was. I appreciate the information but don't be harshing my mellow, sir.

The guy on the beach meanwhile was moving around looking for the varmint and eventually called over to me saying there was no sign of it so it was probably long gone.

Good thing because I intended to put my legs in the water anyway, despite how unnaturally warm it was. It was sure no ocean, but it was wet.

Trekking back over the pipeline, I came face to face with a small group who looked terrified that we had to pass each other on the narrow, rounded pipe. They decided to stand stock-still and I breezed by as one said, "I didn't expect other people to be here!"

When I heard rushing water near the rapids I climbed out on a series of rocks for a better view, waving to friends on the southside working hard this morning on the other side of the river and completely unaware of me.

As I made my way back across Brown's Island, I saw a couple doing push-ups and sit-ups on the steps in the sun, no doubt sweating buckets to get fit.

Bless their hearts. When it's this kind of hot, a walk by the river is more than enough exercise for some of us.

We're Having a Heat Wave

It was too hot to go far.

Really, it was too hot to eat, but my evening's companion was starving.

So we met up at Bistro 27 where I was surprised to see the place rapidly filling up.

Clearly, "Spring Awakening:" is good for the local eateries. That, or everyone's too hot to stay at home.

I know I was; it was 96 degrees in my apartment when I left it.

And Bistro 27 wasn't exactly cool. Between the open kitchen and 108-degree day, it was more like tolerable.

Which was plenty good enough in comparison.

A new bartender awaited me and he was good enough to pour me some Gavi.

Everyone was moving a little slowly tonight and that included us.

We spent some time comparing summer colds and discussing various elements of "Spring Awakening" before even giving the menu a look-see.

A salad of Cabbage Farm arugula, red onion, tomato, pickled quail eggs and fried goat cheese was large but light enough to work on a hot day like this.

Afterwards, I saw a friend and we discussed our upcoming trips away.

He's headed to Nashville with his beloved and had been doing his research online, pleased to learn that the city that houses the Grand Ole Opry (which interests him not at all) also offers a smorgasbord of lesbian bars, male stripper bars and drag queen bars.

He expects to have a ball. And to think his favorite thing about time away is drinking and wild sex.

After hearing the specials, we decided to share the halibut with crab in butter and a medley of zucchini, squash and red pepper matchsticks.

It turned out to be a terrific choice; the fish portion was plenty for two and the abundance of crab and butter filled us up easily.

Once it got late, the chef came over, glass in hand, to give us a cultural lesson.

"This is the summer drink in Argentina," he said, offering up a taste.

The mixture of Malbec, coke and ice was surprisingly more palatable than I'd have guessed given the ingredients.

Or perhaps anything cold tastes good on a day like today.

Despite my protestations, we got dessert, the mixed berries in a chocolate cup with zabaglione, but I wasn't able to do my usual share tonight.

Too much halibut, too much heat.

Look, I love summer and I'm the last person to complain about the heat.

But when it gets to the point where your belly is sweaty, something's up.

An Argentine might say it's time to pack up the Malbec and Coke, a bathing suit and take Ivy's advice.

Roll the windows down
Take a look around
Everything is melting in the sun
Nothing's getting done
I don't have the time
Can't you see that I'm
Trying to get out of the city?

Hold the Catsup and Mustard

It's so hot I couldn't eat a traditional burger on Memorial Day.

A group of us went to celebrate a friend's birthday (I'm beginning to think I only know Geminis) at Carytown Burger and Fries outdoors under the awning.

And, sadly, I couldn't bear the thought of a burger, despite my love of same. Hell, cheeseburgers were my birthday dinner of choice the entire time I was growing up when we got to choose our birthday dinners.

But I couldn't do it. I wimped out and got a salad, granted one with an abundance of bacon, avocado and blue cheese, but one that was mostly iceburg lettuce, tomatoes and baby spinach. Plant matter I could handle.

To make my self feel better about it, I had a bite of the birthday boy's cheeseburger, which merely confirmed what I already knew. It was too hot for eating flesh today, for me anyway.

Nearby, a certain local skull artist happily ate his. My friends ate theirs. The exotic looking family behind us ate theirs.

Note to self: adjust to summer's sudden arrival quickly. Life without cheeseburgers is not really living.

You can quote me on that.

I Like Being Hot

I am a pig when it comes to eating crabs; I don't have any childhood summer eating memories that don't include crabs. So naturally I am a pro at picking them. And eating them (although in this category I have also been called a glutton).

During our most excellent crab feast on the porch last evening (during which I picked for myself as well as the less competent), we found ourselves drifting into several philosophical discussions; the one which interested me most was the one about air conditioning.

I am currently reading Reprieve: A Memoir by Agnes de Mille about the cerebral hemorrhage she suffered in the late 70s after a longtime career as a groundbreaking dancer and choreographer.

While recovering in one of the best hospitals in NYC (and one of only three in the world at the time that had a CAT scan capability), she mentioned the long summer nights in the hospital.

"It was hot I suppose because it was midsummer and no air conditioning was allowed in the hospital but I was high up and there was always a breeze of sorts [through the window]."

The group was appalled. No a/c in a hospital? How did people survive, much less recover? How inhumane! How archaic.

I told the group I don't use air conditioning and haven't since 1993 by choice. Well, if Agnes' situation was appalling, mine was sheer idiocy. The 70s were one thing, but this is the 21st century, they squealed. Why on earth?

Why not? It's green and oh-so economical (more money for crabs). I never claimed to be like other people. And I really do like feeling warm to the bone.

When we got down here and were choosing bedrooms, there was one with twin beds, one with a double and one with a queen. No one wanted the twin bed room except me, which worked out exceedingly well for me.

It's the only room on the ocean side. So I have the windows flung wide open so I can hear the waves and feel the breeze.

But I am obligated to keep the door to my room shut at all times so my warm, humid salt air doesn't dilute the meat-locker temperature in the rest of the cottage. Can do.

Truthfully, the essence of summer in the south for me isn't crab eating (although I'd hate to do without), it's that little trickle of sweat that runs down between my breasts on a hot day.

Just add it to the list of my oddities.

Too Cool a Mockingbird

Like generations of Southerners in the summertime before me, I went to the movies today for "air conditioned comfort" and because the theater would be "cooled by refrigeration" like the banners outside theatres used to promise.

And don't you just know I had to pick a suitably hot and Southern film to see, namely To Kill A Mockingbird, set in un air-conditioned Alabama in the 1930s.

Let the fanning begin.

Not only had I never seen TKAM on the big screen, I'd never seen it at all. I've read the book at least three times that I can recall and read plenty about the film's cultural significance, but that was about it. Movieland was showing it for their Movies and Mimosa feature and I honestly was looking for a couple of hours of cool air.

To my great delight, the details of life in the South in the summer were all there.

Open windows with barely moving curtains. Men with wet underarm stains on their shirts. Foreheads glistening in close quarters. Wrinkled cotton and linen suits and jackets. Men fanning themselves with their hats while women in hats used fans.

A block of ice in front of the courthouse, chips of which were to be used inside for cooling purposes. I know I'm in the minority on this, but I accept being a sweaty mess because I chose to live in the South and summers here are hot.

My windows are open 24/7 and the curtains are often still.

When I get back from my morning walks, my t-shirt has more than just underarm wetness. My forehead glistens under my bangs and my normally straight hair curls where it meets my moist neck.
I tend to wear cotton knit dresses so as to not show the inevitable wrinkling that comes with heat and woven fabrics.

And I even have an Art 180 paddle fan I keep nearby (I once took it to an outdoor wedding and got envious stares from other dripping guests).

But the block of ice I hadn't thought of. Maybe that'll be my next summer coping mechanism. Surely the original occupants of my 1876 house made do during a hot spell and the women back then wore a lot more clothing than I do.

One habit we probably have in common is an afternoon nap in our undies, stretched out under the ceiling fan with the shades drawn.

I may even try employing a chip or two of ice this afternoon...you know, in the best Southern tradition.

I Miss You Terribly

Temperatures warmer than 60 degrees.

Open windows and the sounds of the city.

Drinking white wine and smoothies.

Shorts and sundresses.

Sleeping without covers.

Having a travel companion.

Showering in cool water.

Fruits grown in this hemisphere.

Working with people I like enough to hang out with after work.

Evening daylight.

Sweating before breakfast.

Eating on the porch.

Having a main squeeze.

Napping because it's too hot to do anything else.

Endless optimism.

i.m.y.t.

Things Heated Up Nicely

Yesterday was so incredibly hot, especially in a second-floor apartment with no air conditioning. A thoughtful friend came over with a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc (Palo Alto Reserve from Chile) which we drank under the fan before heading out to the air-conditioned comfort of Verbena, a place neither of us had visited in over a year.

We had hoped to eat upstairs but that plan was thwarted when we were informed that the upstairs air conditioning was not working...which meant that even the downstairs was warmer than it should have been. Not ungodly warm like my apartment, but we were two booths from the kitchen and my bare legs were stuck to the booth with sweat in no time at all.

I continued the Sauvignon Blanc theme, jumping continents to South Africa and friend enjoyed Albarino ("hay and honeysuckle," mmm) but the heat tempered our appetites, so we kept it to appetizers: clams with andouille sausage and crab cakes. The chocolate pate was softer than most, but given the heat, not surprisingly, and really quite lovely.

One of the waitresses, whom I'd known for years but whose personal life had intersected with my past, chose not to say hello, displaying awkward avoidance (guilt? embarrassment?). Funny, she should have no reason not to speak to me; instead, she just looked hot and uncomfortable working that floor.

But then, it's August, so it's supposed to be hot; that's what summer in the south is all about, right?