Sweet memories remain despite the heat

Any way you measure it — Fahrenheit, Celsius, or scoops of ice cream — it has been a hot summer.

It’s a fine time to contemplate how we managed before that best of inventions: air conditioning.

Plenty of us grew up in homes without it, passing our summers in sweaty blissful ignorance.

At our house, the heat-fighting arsenal included screen doors, open windows, strategically placed fans, outdoor time, and a tank of mossy green swimming water that was ice cold on even the hottest days.

Our main form of indoor ventilation came from a roaring, turquoise-colored metal box fan that was usually aimed straight at the kitchen table where we shared all of our meals.

Besides moving a lot of air, that fan provided endless entertainment to any kids willing to crouch on the backside of it and talk, yell, or sing through the whirling blades.

(If you have never done this yourself, you are missing out. Go get a fan now.)

Air conditioning at my house has been sub-par this summer; I have one unit on hospice and another attempting to keep up with too few BTUs in a space too large.

Because of that, I’ve been reluctant to do much entertaining. The indoor temperatures here are well above the comfort zone for most people.

That was never a consideration in my childhood. We often had a house full of friends and family on the hottest days, icy glasses of tea and water making pools of condensation on the dinner table as we fanned ourselves with magazines.

We usually ended up out in the yard soon after a meal, stretched out like elephant seals on collapsible lounge chairs docked in the shade of the trees.

Remember those chairs? They weighed nothing but could pinch fingers like nobody’s business. It was a kid chore to set them up ahead of time, roll out a green garden hose, and wash off the dust before “company” arrived.

Constructed of spindly aluminum pipe, they had seats and backs made of a flimsy nylon webbing that regularly succumbed to the ravages of harsh sunshine, small children, and outdoor cats. Five and ten cent stores sold colorful rolls of replacement webbing. Our mother was an adept repairman.

Cold drinks and ashtrays were perched on scattered metal TV trays painted with lavish roses. While we had no resident smokers, there were several in our regular crowd. I considered it a great honor to present a specially selected ash tray to anyone who needed one.

If it was late enough in the summer and fortune smiled, a watermelon was tucked into the deep freezer in the garage a few hours in advance, chilled through by the time it was split in half and spoons were distributed along with a strict admonition to “share the heart.”

Looking back, it appears we had no idea how miserable we were. Our brains must have been addled by the heat. How else can I explain how sweet, sweet, sweet those memories remain?

Betty Williamson has condensation on her rose-colored glasses. Or possibly sweat. Reach her at:

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