hot day

At 11 a.m. a rotisserie-esque heat [90F/32.2C] has descended in force. How in heaven's name did anyone survive such heat when it struck New York City when I was a kid and air conditioning was not in every window? New York -- a brick-oven of tall, stone buildings ... a pizza oven down whose streets an occasional water truck might pass, spraying water left and right from its tanker womb, washing away some, but not much, of the searing of the streets.

The porch, where I sit and sip coffee, is too hot for much communion with the outdoors. What a weakened sissy I have become. How thankful I am for the air conditioning. Wuss-wussier-wussiest. Once upon a time, I guess, I simply lived through it because there was no other option. Now I cross my fingers for the options I know are available. "Dear Santa -- I don't want a lump of coal...."

Yes, yes ... I hear the Zennie chorus: "When it's hot, sweat; when it's cold, shiver."