summertime
55°F and cloudy, one planet in the eastern sky when I looked out upon arising at four o’clock. May be 70°F or close today, returning to a proper Florida Gulf Coast winter. I never figured out WTH all that bitter cold was about, jiminy christmas, I’ve lived in Rhode Island, Michigan, Ohio and Pennsylvania, and finally got home to Florida for good reasons, including a boyhood of barefoot, short pants and shirtless winters.
Once the weatherman fully regains his senses the only thing I’ll miss is getting up predawn mornings to streaks of lightning on the near horizon over the Gulf, and rolling, rumbling thunder as the black clouds move toward 7H. But summer should take care of that such that again the difference between summer and winter is whether there’s lightning.
My years growing up: a hot house, my upstairs bedroom, on the right going up the stairs, my bed pushed over against the open window, the attic fan drumming and pulling in cooler, or at least moving, air across my head lying on my pillow on the windowsill. Best as in good better best until the fan started pulling in rain on my head and I had to close the window, or my father got up and turned off the attic fan.
Growing up years at our house, installation of that attic fan was the best thing that ever happened. It was a huge fan, involved cutting a large hole in the ceiling at the top of the stairs, automatically opening and closing louvres, and building an enormous shed dormer on the back roof.
That might have been about the time a second under-roof closet was added in each upstairs bedroom, on the back, a story for another time. Or perhaps already told.
DThos+
Once the weatherman fully regains his senses the only thing I’ll miss is getting up predawn mornings to streaks of lightning on the near horizon over the Gulf, and rolling, rumbling thunder as the black clouds move toward 7H. But summer should take care of that such that again the difference between summer and winter is whether there’s lightning.
My years growing up: a hot house, my upstairs bedroom, on the right going up the stairs, my bed pushed over against the open window, the attic fan drumming and pulling in cooler, or at least moving, air across my head lying on my pillow on the windowsill. Best as in good better best until the fan started pulling in rain on my head and I had to close the window, or my father got up and turned off the attic fan.
Growing up years at our house, installation of that attic fan was the best thing that ever happened. It was a huge fan, involved cutting a large hole in the ceiling at the top of the stairs, automatically opening and closing louvres, and building an enormous shed dormer on the back roof.
That might have been about the time a second under-roof closet was added in each upstairs bedroom, on the back, a story for another time. Or perhaps already told.
DThos+