LIFE IN THE SUMMERTIME, 2009

PART I

The present year, 2009, rhymes halfly with the word summertime, a poetic chronotype as rare as a solar eclipse or a volume of accentual verse in the American tongue, and thus I must take advantage of it by writing something, anything, about it. Unfortunately, the summertime of 2009 in Chicago was less summer than it was one of the lesser seasons, (lesser only because the attire of the ladies is greater) resembling in turns some of the warmer days of autumn or the drier days of spring. But only rarely could it be accused of being summer, Summer with a capital S.

PART II

One summer day, your pale author scraped together a load of pennies and dimes with the intention to purchase an air conditioner. This was early June, when sweat is conceived and born and wiped away. Coolness was inaugurated with the running of the air conditioner for twelve days consecutively. The electric bill was of no concern, for Summer was here. A quick glance out of the apartment window showed me many of the ladies were attired accordingly. And then the summer hiccupped (or hiccoughed, which spelling does not offend my spell checker) and neither my air conditioner nor my binoculars were necessary for the next three months. The air in the apartment remained warm yet cool, and the ladies wore longer skirts and longish sleeves and occasionally that great summer insult: jeans.

PART III

The summer officially ended the day after receiving my June electric bill, which was accompanied by a letter from the normally reticent proprietor of that shop. The letter is excerpted here: “...and in these times of economic hardship, we humbly request that you remove your sweaters from storage at the bottom of your bureau or the top shelf of your closet, and wear them as you take re-advantage of the air conditioners which you were no doubt accustomed to making use of at this time in previous years but for which you have since found little need.” For that excruciating bit of epistolary pan-handling, I promptly refused to pay my electric bill for three months. Curiously, they didn’t shut off the electric. Wishful thinkers, i suppose.

PART IV

It is September, and I find that I have few fond memories of the summer of 2009. That brief interlude of electric breeze in its dawning days is my sole joy. I only regret that in those days, rather than sit on the beach with my toes in the water and my eyes on the consolation prizes, I sat huddled around those vents, sucking in the freon lace that was spun from out its coils. The Autumn has now ascended the throne, and I can only expect that it will serve the summer the same insults it received in the masquerade. The coming week will no doubt have temperatures in the eighties, and I will gladly resume use of my air conditioner, to please myself and, against my better judgement, the electric company.