Letters to the Editor
-
Dante's lowest circle had air conditioning
I hate air conditioners. I hate them with a passion. Maybe it was the trauma of finding out how different my sister's concept of the weater was from mine. My parents decided to get all middle class and kitted out our Brooklyn row house with air conditioners. My sister, who would voluntarily play in the snow every winter while I filled in my coloring books, set the temperature to 65 degrees. I was forced to haul out blankets and winter coats and pile them up on myself. Even though I was 11 years old, I'd wake up with a stiff neck and creaking joints. My protestations fell on deaf ears.
So, I opted to sleep on the couch. I flopped myself down in the comfortable 75 degree heat and woke up like meat on a slab. My mother had crept down during the night and turned on the air conditioning because my brother, upstairs, did not have air conditioning in his little room. I was yelled at for trying to sleep in the kitchen with the doors shut. Mother did not want to walk into a hot kitchen in the morning. I was also informed that the basement was no good because only roaches lived in the basement.
I now live in coastal California and the nightmare continues. I have no control over the climate here and find myself piling blankets up three thick in the 59 degree summer nights. I miss the balmy nights where I could sit outside in a tee shirt with an ice cream cone. I miss the sight of my knees below the hems of my shorts and I miss sunburned arms.
Don't get an air conditioner. Move to the coast and you will find yourself very nostalgic about those hot days and nights.