It reached 92 degrees yesterday. Will reach 90 again today. Suffocating humidity. Stepping outside is stepping into a sauna. And there will be no sudden cold front coming through, with thunderstorms driving this miserable heat away, as would have happened before climate change accelerated to threaten us all with heat extinction. Nope, just a barely perceptible cooling, until temperatures drop below eighty over the holiday weekend, only to rise again midweek next week, and then, finally, I hope, recede below 80, never to climb that high again until next summer.
There’s a tree in my neighborhood that always turns long before any others lose so much as a speck of green. It becomes a lovely deep red, and hangs on to those autumn leaves for a few months, until the first hard frost, or even beyond. But why does it turn so early? Its autumn color seems as out of place as 92 degrees in September.
Is that tree’s solo, premature transformation a sign of hope? “Cooler days are coming! you’ll see!” Or is it an expression of despair? “Ah, fuck it. In a few years we won’t have crisp, cool fall weather at all. Might as well just give it up and turn now.”
This weather is turning me into a prepper. I rinse out two gallon plastic bottles until I can’t smell the cleaning vinegar they used to contain, and stash them in the basement. I contemplate buying some kind of metal, mouse-proof footlocker in which to stow freeze dried meals I’ll order from REI. Every time I go to the grocery store, I resolve to buy an extra jar of peanut butter, or can of beans (protein) or mandarin oranges (vitamin C) to stow on the laundry room shelving downstairs. I think about hoarding batteries, and installing a solar generator, if I could only afford one.
The plumbers were here for two hours this morning. The good news was that there’s nothing wrong with the sewer line. “Looks brand new!” they said. The bad news was replacing the drain in the upstairs bathroom sink, after rodding out the disgusting gunk clogging the pipe, and discovering that the gunk just travelled a little farther along the pipe to back up into the tub. This required Dad plumber to come help Number One Son plumber rod out the bathtub drain. Number Two Son plumber had already moved on to someone else’s clogged drain or leaky pipe.
The net effect of all this is that I now have a functioning upstairs sink drain, but will likely lose nearly two monthly mortgage payments, which will require selling something (anybody want a vintage all-in-one stereo system from the ’70s? or some mid-century telescopes that I think will work with a little TLC from an astronomy buff? They come with cool wooden tripods with spikes on the ends for planting them in the yard, and big heavy wooden storage boxes that work as “decor”! ) Anyone? Anyone?
Ah, well. I knew when I called the plumbers that I’d have to dip into my retirement funds well beyond this month’s allocation. An uncomfortably large chunk of those funds are already slated for deck and patio repair, a new fridge and dishwasher, plus a crown my dentist says my upper back molar requires. Not to mention next year’s property taxes and new metal raised beds, to end the cycle of rot and rodents that seem to get after my veggies more vigorously every year. Plus it’s getting tougher to work up the gumption to get out there and mow my third of an acre. But after all this, it will be at least another year before I can even think of paying someone else to do it. And by then, I’ll need a new lawn mower too.
So, hope or despair?
How about resignation? It’s an old house, it needs what it needs, nothing lasts forever. Grass grows and needs mowing. Joints ache, bones hollow out (hello, osteoporosis!) and any pride I take in still being able to do things for myself is quickly overwhelmed by exhaustion. It feels like with each passing year, I am becoming the first tree to turn.
I only hope I can look as good as that maple tree as it happens.
Anxiously checking my retirement accounts, I remain,
your often exhausted, sometimes hopeful, mostly resigned to “que sera sera”-ism,
Ridiculouswoman
As the realtor said who sold me and my husband out first purchased house,”Nothing works in an old house except the owner.” True, that. Somehow, I hope one by one, life unfolds with the way towards achieving each step in your future. May that hold true for us all. “Nothing works in a democracy without the people.”