You know who I admire?
I admire people who say, “I don’t care what other people think of me.”
And mean it.
I’m afraid I’m not so strong. I hate hate hate it when people are mad at me. And I also hate it when people I live with are mad at each other.
The recent return of the hellish heat and humidity that is our summer here in the heart of Carolina has me both hiding in dark, air-conditioned rooms, and reminiscing about previous Matthews Family Band summers.
When The Kid was a toddler, Durham had those summer evening events with music, food, and activities for the kids. It was free, sounded like fun, so one night we decided to go.
We were having a terrific time, The little Kid was dancing and making friends.
And then, it happened.
The Duke blue devil made an appearance. We pointed him out to our toddler, who loved to see him on TV.
We hadn’t taken into account that on TV, the mascot was seven or eight inches. In person, he was around six feet tall.
Panic is an extreme understatement. The poor child didn’t know whether to scream, cry, throw up, or run. So all four were attempted at the same time.
The Kid ran to us, screaming, “We got to go! We got to go NOW!”
So we left.
But for the next few years, whenever we told The Kid we were going somewhere, the poor thing would get a worried look and ask, “The Blue Devil guy’s not gonna be there, is he?”
Another year, The Kid got to see Mommy in a frenzy of terror.
It was one of those days when I had one last nerve, and my only child was doing an interpretive dance right on it.
I asked The Kid to go outside and weed the little flower bed around the mailbox. I figured there wouldn’t be much actual weeding done, but I also figured the break meant I wouldn’t be drunk before dinner.
Within forty-five seconds The Kid was back.
“I can’t weed. It’s full of snakes!”
I tried to explain that it was probably a few worms, but my child would not be dissuaded. I finally went out to the mailbox to prove I was right.
Except, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Some horrible, mean, sneaky, dastardly snake had laid eggs in the bed, and seventeen million of them had recently hatched.
I was almost catatonic with terror. The Kid took my arm and gently led me back into the house.
That night, I was drunk before dinner.
At the beginning of this essay, I spoke about my discomfort with ire.
One summer, Petey and The Kid were barely speaking. Petey insisted our child needed a bicycle for Christmas. The gift was a bust.
So, in late June, our little would-be cyclist still didn’t know how to ride, and showed no interest. Husband and child had butted heads about it for six months. I decided to end the stalemate and teach The Kid.
So one day, when it was about 732° outside, I took child and bike down to an empty parking lot to get it done. I figured twenty minutes, tops.
Three hours later I was praying for the sweet release of death. I gave up and that night, I announced I was out. I was formally withdrawing from the great bicycle debate. Done.
The Kid never learned to ride, and I honestly have no memory of what happened to that cursed vehicle.
So, here’s hoping that your own summer is not terrifying, sweaty, or frustrating.
Thanks for your time.
Contact debbie at d@bullcity.mom.
Almost a hundred times a day I tell Petey, and anybody else who’s not quick enough to run away that I am not at all pleased with the way summers go around here. I have threatened for years to file a complaint.
I am writing today to express my dissatisfaction with the summers you and your association have recently been distributing to humans. In the next seven days, the high temperatures for North Carolina range from 90 to well over 100 degrees. Today in Kuwait it was over 120 degrees. This week in France the mercury has risen to over 110 degrees.
The heat is relentless. It seems as if there is a personal, malevolent component to make everyone miserable and grumpy. Morning, noon, or late at night, being outside for more than ten minutes results in flushing, sweating, and frizzy hair. Everything and everyone is limp and lacks energy and enthusiasm.
The result is no one wants to do anything except hang out in swimming pools eating ice cream. But people have obligations they must attend to, only a small population has access to pools, and a diet solely consisting of ice cream would quickly have a deleterious effect upon one’s health.
Temperature: From May until late September the average high temperature should be no more than 80 degrees with most days being a comfortable 74-77 degrees.
Rain: We need it, so I’ll leave it in your experienced hands, but the heat that causes soupy steam to rise from paved surfaces is completely unacceptable. I’m a North Carolinian so I understand that hurricanes are a fact of life, but tornadoes are unnecessary and just seem mean-spirited.
On a personal note; as one woman of a certain age to another I am sure you can understand the discomfort I have been experiencing and the poor humor which then results. I unfortunately do not have the power to strike with lightening the most aggravating with whom I must contend.
I look forward to your reply concerning these horrible summers that humanity has been enduring. I understand that you are a busy woman with a large territory under your purview which could make a timely and satisfactory conclusion problematic. Because of this I feel a fair resolution concerning this untenable weather should be achievable within ninety days.
Well, I feel better anyway.
With all due respect to the Gershwin Brothers and DuBose Heyward, they must have been high when they wrote, “Summertime, and the living is easy.”
Even when people lived very close to the land, in previous centuries, summer was no golden hazed, idealized dream world of fried catfish, starry nights, and summer breezes.
I am not even joking a little bit when I say I am over the summer already and impatiently awaiting the State Fair and sweater weather (the feelings may be exacerbated slightly by these hellish, fury-provoking flashes of heat I’ve been experiencing lately).
It’s chia pudding. Chia seeds are small pips which swell and soften when mixed with liquid. It’s similar to tapioca pudding but is so much quicker, easier, and healthier.
Milk-use anything from whole milk to fat-free; white, buttermilk, chocolate, or strawberry. Don’t use anything thicker than whole because it will become greasy cement. You can also use nut milk, coconut water, or fruit juice—cook’s choice.
Liquid sweetener-Honey, maple syrup, agave, corn syrup. If it’s sweet and you can pour it from bottle, you can use it.
Mix-ins and toppings-I love toasted pecans and dried cherries. But what about salted peanuts and dried banana? Or chocolate chips and biscotti pieces? Or pomegranate seeds and pistachios?
The whole idea of this chia pudding is that it’s stress-free and open to a multitude of interpretations.
Not only do I loathe these 1000 degree days with humidity of 94%, I’m not too crazy about the people who claim to love them. Plus, I’m not totally convinced they’re telling the truth.
Here’s a perfect summer day for me: fall.
3 Bosc pears, peeled, halved, and cored
2/3 cup mayonnaise
3 duck breasts
Remove from pan and let rest.
5 cups salad greens
Fresh whole wheat roll and real butter/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/52723141/_7B5015C9F0-FFE9-4176-9AB8-AA032D0BD9EF_7DImg400.0.jpg)
Thanks for your time.
bull city mom 