Fall was always my favorite season, and the blustery early part of spring, for summer and I have never been merry playmates. Heat fells me. It's mind-altering.
When I moved to Los Angeles in 1975, as part of The Manhattan Transfer's transfer from the east to the west coast, I found the bright sunny days easier to tolerate, because it was rarely as humid out there. And when we played in Las Vegas, that big old sauna, I found a kind of heat I liked. Because, of course (all together now!), it's a dry heat, where stepping into a shaded spot makes a real difference in the temperature, and where the nights are cool.
In the Bronx today, as I am writing, there is no dry heat. It is 97° F (about 36°C), but at around 40% humidity, it supposedly feels like 105° (40.5°). I'd say that's about right. Humidity will drop today as the temperature continues to climb, so that around teatime, when the thermometer says 100° it will really feel like...100°.
About ten years ago, I went south to St. Petersburg, FL, on the occasion of my grandmother's birthday. She was a Leo, and that birthday was in the first week of August. It was hot. Molten. And, not content with Florida heat, I also visited a friend in Lafayette, LA. I have never lived in the south, but as a visitor I learned quickly (the only quick thing I did) to move slowly. Taking time to smell the roses is built into the climate, and moving slowly allowed me to receive and appreciate the courtesies that are extended there and seem to come as naturally as breathing. I was "ma'amed" and "honey'd" everywhere I went, and I never felt so welcome anywhere. Once back in the north, I was told, "that's all superficial!". I didn't agree. But so what if it was? It felt sweet and delicious, and as cooling as a breeze lifting your hair off the back of your neck.
The breeze that I am feeling now from the mighty Vornado fan is admirable, but it just ain't the same.
Po' Baby. It's not superficial, Sweetie, it's code. I'm a Native New Yorker, living in the South, and I'll tell you, Hon, the Southern code is inscrutable. You can copy the accent if you have a good ear, but you can't fake the dialect. It's like I have a scarlet Y branded on my forehead.
And yet (educated) Southern American English is the most beautiful English I've ever heard.
Posted by: Stuart | July 06, 2010 at 10:04 PM
Having just returned from yet another trip to southern Louisiana I can attest to the genuine hospitality and caring of the folks down there. How many places do you hear a teenager say "sir?" when called upon, or have folks put "Mr." or "Ms." in front of your first name when speaking to you?
The whole feel of the place is communal and nurturing. Every time I'm there I want to make it permanent.
Posted by: [email protected] | July 07, 2010 at 08:23 AM
Stuart, I so agree about the use of language, at least in my limited experience of visiting and of working with musicians from that area. Shakespeare would be at home, I think.
Wordsmith, I did want to stay. I am a pushover for places where one is treated decently and the stranger is welcomed. Of course, that can happen in New York City, too, if you pay attention and let it happen. But it goes by faster...
Posted by: Laurel Massé | July 07, 2010 at 08:56 AM
Hoorah for the Vornado fan! It moves the heat or the cold air equally around the room. Of course you have to have cold air first.
I lived in New Orleans and just outside of Palm Springs. Both in the summer. They have one thing in common. You have to have air conditioning or you stay indoors to survive.
Posted by: Philip Wissbeck | July 07, 2010 at 04:16 PM