Cold Front

Not in Florida. Not in July, when air comes from the south. The water temperatures in the gulf are 90 plus degrees. The heat indexes reach the three digit mark.

Weather originating from the shores of West Africa. It arrives either as a tropical depression or a category 5 hurricane. Fortunately, not this the first of June.

Usually we get rocking thunderstorms. During the last three weeks, Pinellas County has missed out on most of the afternoon thunderstorms. They have popped up in the north by mid-morning, to the west in the late afternoon. In the south and east towering columns of clouds have pushed skyward, like mounds of termite nests growing out of the African Serengeti. Pinellas County has avoided the massive storms, their torrential rain and ramparts accompanied by thunder. Whatever the cause, I hope it keeps the tropical storms away.

The heat has caused me to crack. I broke down. I have turned on the air in the evening taking the heat and humidity out of the condo before going to bed. Helps hot flashes be a little more bearable. The condo, without a full southern exposure and being on the first floor, has temperatures 15-20 degrees cooler than the outside. Eighty-four feels okay with ceiling fans. But, I mean I really broke down and I am going to blame the cats.

I’m New York bound for August. Traveling north with Phoenix and Diablo (Gee, I just realized how hot those names are!). The Jeep’s air conditioning hasn’t worked since 1993. I drove across Tennessee in August for a job interview in Knoxville. Windows open sweating all the way, wind blowing trucker dirt into my teeth. I unexpectedly ran in to Al Pirie, the company’s HR Manager who had been assigned to check me out. I wasn’t able to get to my room to clean up because there was a room reservation mishap. First impressions are every lasting. I didn’t get that job. Instead, I got another job with the same company and became Al’s boss. That is how I got to Florida, the first time.

The first time and five years in the state without air. Each week, my job put me on the road about 25 miles, but in the air for 3000. So I tolerated the heat. Hated the flying. Although I had the money in those days, I rebelled when the dealer estimated, “About $1000.” After all, it had OLD refrigerant in it. It had to be converted. And I must have looked like a sucker.

This week, fretting about frying my feline brains out, I decided to look into the cost of fixing the system. I figured $1000, about the same worth of the 1989 Jeep with 316,000 miles. But first thing was to get an evaluation. A good investment of $35. Then a final decision.

Imagine my pleasure when I was told that back in the old days of the last century the Jeep’s air system, all of the systems in fact, were well made. To fix the air con and retro fit it for the NEW Freon – which is now old Freon, much like Class Coke is just Coke to everyone born after 1985. (Or was that 1984?)—would cost $309.30. I didn’t want to appear overly relieved with the price, so I frowned and hesitated, as if I had to make some great financial sacrifice—a new dress for my 35th high school reunion or cooling my cats.

So I am headed north next weekend. My faithful Jeep, topped off with a bright yellow kayak, my mountain bike, two cats, a litter box and a new dress for the reunion. I feel a cold front moving in.