Neither my partner Sara nor I is what you’d call climatically well-adjusted.
I hate heat, but Sara isn’t exactly fond of freezing either.
This past week in Kentucky, for example, Sara has found it challengingly chilly. Our dogs, too, are uncomfortable with the cold.
I, on the other hand, am loving it. I’m snuggling-down-under-the blankets loving it—drinking-steaming-cups-of-hot-tea loving it.
And I’m loud about that love. (Then again, I’m loud about a lot of things.)
However, as much as I love fall’s chill, I hate heat. I abhor it, actually. So when we lived, for two out of the past three years, in infernally hot places—inhumanly humid places—I complained a bit. I engaged in a bit of meteorological moaning, you might say.
You see, in 2009 my partner and I moved with our dogs to Vietnam, and then lived the year after that in Haiti. Even our Maltese Lucy dressed for Hanoi’s heat.
Vietnam was definitely the hotter of the two places. Yet living in a place like Port-au-Prince, where access to electricity was inconsistent at best, air conditioning was lacking, and we often didn’t have the power to run a fan either.
Certainly, this exposure to our planet’s “hot spots” has helped me better tolerate the “heat” we had here in Kentucky last summer, our warmest on record. This doesn’t mean, however, that I complained a whole lot less about the inferno we suffered—though I suppose I should have, for Sara’s sake, to save her from my unrelenting heat-related commentary.
You see, Sara insists that if it’s hot, I invariably comment on that fact, unceasingly and with, at least, a borderline whine. I don’t deny noting that it’s hot, but I flatly refuse to accept that I whine in any situation where that whining is not thermostatically justified—allowing me to blow off steam, if you will. Far be it from me to “make much ado” if I don’t need to!
But, I’d like to think I whined, at least, a little less last summer, because, in all honesty, I believe, I’ve acclimated a bit to the heat. And Kentucky heat is less oppressive than the “hot” that is Hanoi in summer or Texas under a Rick Perry administration. Kentucky is clearly in the minor leagues compared to Vietnam, not to mention Houston. It’s hot, yes, but ungodly and inhumanely hot? Probably not.
Nonetheless, I’m welcoming this fall’s break from summer heat. I’m bundled up in sweatshirts and heavy socks—breathing deeply of the crisp and almost chill. And I’m talkin’ about it.
Sara, on the other hand, isn’t exactly a happy camper this week—or, I should say, she isn’t happy camping in tent-like temperatures.
You see, our house is drafty. It’s old. It’s cold. It makes my Sara miserable.
However, last night when Sara dramatically draped a wool, winter scarf around her neck and crawled diva-like into bed, I’m sorry to say, I laughed.
I laughed at her wordless but ever so over-stated woe. Though she doesn’t always vocalize her misery, she does complain in equally obvious ways.
I know I shouldn’t have laughed. I know I should have snuggled close and kept her warm. I should have remembered my misery in Hanoi’s heat.
But the fact of the matter is—it is cold in Kentucky this week. So maybe I mocked out of my own discomfort with the cold.
At least I’m not complaining about it—because, God knows, I’m capable of that. This climatically challenged chic complains with the best of them. I’m a meteorological misfit, who hates heat and isn’t always crazy about the cold either. And Sara’s not a whole lot better.
Even little Lucy’s dressed for sweater weather.
It’s sad. Isn’t it? Even our canines are climatically challenged.
Do you prefer warm or chilly weather? Do you complain when it’s too hot or uncommonly cold? Are you, or someone you know, climatically challenged?