It’s time for a summer update, since it is, after all, summer. In days of yore it was variously called somer, sumer, sumur and even zumer, which proves that humans have always been lousy spellers — or spullers.
In any case, we are deep into it, and sensible people know that it is TOO HOT! Anything beyond 90 puts me into a tailspin and even 85 is not ideal.
My people came from Ireland by way of Canada. We are not meant to have tans, or to work up a sweat over anything but ancient grudges. Our pale skin reflects the sun’s rays at the beach, blinding lifeguards and perhaps contributing to global warming.
Heat aversion doesn’t affect everyone. I have known several people who actually enjoy roasting in heatwaves. Some sort of natural coolant runs through their veins; I tell them to check back with me in January, when I am happy as a clam in merino wool and seven layers of this and that. (And what are clams so happy about? It might be that they are never TOO HOT — until they are invited to dinner.)
Which reminds me about this summer: IT’S TOO HOT!
And I am TOO HOT. The White House says it’s not our fault that Earth is a toaster oven, but I don’t think we can blame the squirrels. Oh, well, let’s all burn more carbon and see how it goes.
But on to local things of note:
Last weekend’s NEXUS music festival hosted by the Lebanon Opera House was excellent, even if the weather was TOO HOT. We sat in the shade in our camp chairs and dared to clap and even considered dancing as darkness descended. But no. No one should see me swaying like one of those inflatable tube men in front of used car dealers.
Anyway, it gives me pause to think about how much of my outdoor pleasure comes down to sitting in a folding camp chair.
During one act in the early evening, several young adults arrived late and squeezed in close to us. They were friendly and prone to whooping. I suspected alcohol or something else was involved when one of the young women spoke to me several times and asked, “Are we making too much noise, sir?” “Oh, just have fun,” I said.
When we left later she called to me, “I love you, sir,’’ which made me smile for the rest of the evening and much of the next day. At my age, I’ll take any affirmation I can get. Even drunk affirmation.
Heat isn’t the only thing that’s TOO HIGH. Rents and home prices are, too. A neighbor just quickly sold a house for $60,000 over the asking price. We live on a dead-end street that would be ideal for a young family. We hoped that would work out, and the seller did, too. But money talks, and it is talking louder in the Upper Valley. In Hanover it SHOUTS. Prices practically start at a million. Not so long ago that was a lot of money.
I own a modest bungalow, but online property sites tell me it’s worth more and more. Still I reserve the right to tell city assessors the tax value they set is TOO HIGH. Feel free to join me.
And what about food prices, you might ask. This may surprise you, but they are also TOO HIGH. I don’t follow prices closely, but many things that used to be $2.49 jumped to $3.49 and now $4.99. “Oof,’’ I say, wincing. “I remember when candy bars were a nickel.” I can feel people in line behind me rolling their eyes. Good thing I’ve given up fancy cuts of steak, or name-brand oatmeal.
I can’t save by switching to dark tuna because my sister once called it CAT FOOD TUNA — she said it in all caps — and that has stuck with me all these years later. Fortunately, I like all-natural peanut butter, and bananas are still affordable, for now.
The chain supermarkets around us don’t compete much on prices. They take turns putting things on sale so shoppers don’t wise up. I would favor an Upper Valley Coalition to Induce a Low-Price Supermarket to Come Here, but I am relying on others to take the lead. I am not much of a joiner, and TOO HOT to take on a crusade.
Fall is coming and then winter. You will not find me claiming that temperatures are TOO COLD unless heating oil prices are TOO HIGH, at which points all bets are off.
I’m sorry to go on and on about this, but all of it is getting to be too much.
