Lazy Hazy Days
Wherein we survive a heat wave, and I muse on Chesterton, noir, and whether a trip to the Big Apple is in the offing
Last week Mother Nature kicked off the summer with a heat wave. Central Park, the weather station of record in the greater metropolitan area, peaked around 101 Fahrenheit on Wednesday. We swelter slightly less here in the valleys northwest of the city. As we always said growing up, it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. Driving Dad to his appointment last Wednesday, the surrounding mountains were cloaked in a thick haze. You could feel the air when you went outdoors. Breezes were conspicuously absent. I’ve spent the last several decades in a place that has never hit 100 degrees, and where windy conditions are your constant companion. It’s never not windy, at home.
Of course, the hottest week of the year is when I finally joined a gym here. I should say “we,” because my husband also joined up. It was a year, practically to the day, since I had joined a gym at home. Six months of making it a habit had shown appreciable fruit. That was all undone, but we will not dwell. I started back to my strength and cardio routines last weekend, and I am pleased and grateful to be back at the gym.
Mother Nature has turned down the burner the past few days, and I am sitting on the shady deck, under the umbrella, enjoying an actual — rare — breeze. And Chesterton. He was here with me just a minute ago, until I hit another mental stopping point. As I eluded to in my note, I have to take him in small doses, so I can really think about and process what he is saying. So I am happy if I cover two pages in a session.
Speaking of reading, I am two weeks into my newly reduced and intentional reading plan. I have to report that overall it is going quite well. While I have not been perfect in reading everything every day, I can say I no longer suffer from overwhelm and decision paralysis. Although I am still plodding through Orthodoxy, I have set no time limit on finishing it. Meanwhile, for my relaxing reading in the evenings, I have finished the second Perry Mason, and moved on to the first Nero Wolfe novel. I am nearly half way through and have no idea how the title — the name of a variety of orchid — relates to the plot. If you didn’t know, Wolfe is an orchid addict. His fictitious brownstone includes a rooftop conservatory where he spends four hours a day communing with orchids.
In other noir news, we have been enjoying movies on some weekend nights, thanks to Dad’s cable television subscription. We have not had cable or satellite television at home since 2005, so this is a novelty. Last night we caught the noir classic Double Indemnity on one of the “old movie channels.” The script was co-written by Raymond Chandler, and I plan to dive into one of his books when I’m done with the gang — Wolfe, Goodwin, and Fritz, and the orchids — at the fictitious brownstone in Hell’s Kitchen.
Speaking of Hell’s Kitchen, I am contemplating a return to my ancestral homeland, the Big Apple, to visit a museum with an exhibition up this summer that interests me. Not in Hell’s Kitchen per se, but a few avenues east. I’m about 98% sure I will do it some Saturday, and I’ll post all about it here if I do. I love the City, warts and all, and despite being here for six months, I haven’t taken a trip in yet. I haven’t been there since 2021, in truth, and that was just passing through from the Port Authority to Penn Station to go home from a flying visit here, when all of my family were still with us.
Enjoy your celebrations for Independence Day and keep cool!