In 1986, when George and I bought our first house in Rochester, the summer was a particularly brutal. George was on the road and I was left to tend the new abode during the worst heatwave the city had known--in my lifetime at least. Temperatures stayed in the high 90s for weeks. Tapped by our purchase, we couldn't even afford a window unit.
I remember the thermostat reading 97 degrees in my living room--at night. Consistently. Day after day, first week, second week... I also remember sitting on the recliner, a box fan at my feet, after two solid weeks, thinking about killing myself. I'm not going for drama--I really thought about it as an option for not feeling so miserable. It was only the beginning of summer, and if this was how it would be, I reasoned, count me out.
Obviously, I didn't do it.
When our central air went out a week ago, Jenna and I were already sick. We had fevers. Two days into the thermostat reading over 90 degrees inside, she entered a new phase of this plague we've had: throwing up. Oh great. Nothing like throwing up in a 90-degree house, and me too exhausted/sick to even think about what to do about it.
George was in the basement, tackling the mounds of laundry that had piled up for two weeks after our dryer died. We knew the dryer was dying. We were prepared for that. We weren't prepared for losing the AC OR for the expense, especially since I haven't had a project in more than a month. Okay two.
Undaunted, I grabbed jenna by the hand, grabbed our bag of medicine and not much else, dripped by George who was dripping in the basement, and said: "This is it. She's throwing up. I'm going to find a hotel room."
And off we went, first for phenegren, then to a ice cold room at a hotel down the road. We stayed two days. Couldn't afford to, but couldn't stand not to.
We've been back a couple of days and the AC still isn't fixed, but at least Jenna and I don't have fevers anymore. The last two days haven't been as hot, but by evening it's still above 90 inside. Didn't fall asleep last night, with cold washcloth, til 5 a.m.
Yesterday Jenna started first grade. At least they have air at school.
Yesterday was our 18th wedding anniversary. We went out for Chinese as much to enjoy the coolness of a restaurant as for the food.
Then we came home.
As RageBoy might say: donations welcome, motherfuckers.
