This summer has been nothing short of Cambodia hot in the northeast. Steamy, sticky, sweaty days, followed by oppressive nights, full of buzzing, biting insects and the constant whir of the ceiling fan, clicking in an endless circle as it attempts to disperse a feeble breeze over our sweaty foreheads. We've always shunned air conditioning in our house, but I'm beginning to regret my holier than thou attitude towards artificially cooled air.
"No, we don't have an a/c" I've stated with inane pride, to the mortification of my more progressively minded (read: much smarter) friends. "It never really gets that hot in our house."
Well, I'm rueing those words now. There have been some brief reprieves of the steady dose of hot temperatures. Usually, predicated by a biblical thunderstorm that shakes the foundation of the house, lightening bolts criss cross the sky and rain blows sideways, threatening to unmoor my well tended pots of flowers from the front porch. We even had a bout of hail stones this past week. I've become a slave to the radar map on my iPhone.
"Look at all the yellow and red spots coming toward us!" I shout to Jonathan, my voice cracking with excitement as if I'm the Goddess of Thunder storms and have created them with my own callused hands. Jonathan has since banned me from giving reports at any less than a half hour interval. I still check the radar like a woman possessed, but I keep the info to myself and content my nerves by jumping up every five minutes to check the skies for dark clouds approaching.
Due to our day job, which involves riding/training horses, it's just not possible to work them later than noon on these wretched humid days. The horses get ridden early in the morning and spend their afternoons in their stalls munching hay, with their box fans blowing on them. Thus, Jonathan and I have embarked on a new trend, where we head to the movie theatre for a matinee and spend a couple of mindless hours in chilly air, eating popcorn and sipping soda. Last Tues. was absolutely miserable so we cleaned up after a ridiculously sweaty morning and drove to Millerton Moviehouse to watch "To Rome with Love", Woody Allen's latest flick. Since Millerton isn't exactly the hub of the universe the matinees are sparsely attended, and we settled into our seats in the nearly empty theatre. One couple in their sixties sat in front of us, grey haired and somber, no pre-show conversation needed at this stage of their relationship. The movie began and we all settled in for the preamble of character's that only Woody can produce. It required some attention to sort out each set of actors and how they would knit together to form the story. Woody's movies are quirky and delightful, but if you don't pay attention you can easily miss a key line, or well placed innuendo. I was startled to hear the door open about a third of the way thru the movie. Who could be coming in this late in the game? They've missed so much already! How will they possibly catch up with the story? A doddering couple of octogenarian's came into view, hobbled down the aisle and plopped themselves into the second row directly in front of the screen. Oh boy. Now I was worried that they wouldn't be able to enjoy the movie. The characters were all established and the meat of the story was getting underway. Would they enjoy themselves? Would they get it?? Should I scoot down and give them a Cliff Note's version of what had happened till they came in? I hid my anxiety by stuffing mouthfuls of popcorn into my mouth, but I kept half an eye on the elderly latecomers. The movie is set in Rome and some of the characters were Italian, so subtitles were a part of the show. As soon as the words appeared on the screen, the female octogenarian began to read them aloud to her partner...in a very audible voice. The man leaned in to catch every word. I initially bristled, thinking that it was going to be totally annoying to listen to this woman's raspy voice reading along. We all know that it's bad form to talk out loud during a movie. This couple proved to be almost as entertaining as the movie itself. As soon as the woman would read a line, the man would erupt in laughter, then she would laugh. It was like a Woody Allen movie IN a Woody Allen movie! They tittered and carried on like teenagers, especially at the more racy scenes. It was hilarious!! When one of the female character's described her first lesbian encounter and how thunderous her orgasms were with a woman I was tense, wondering how it would be received by this older couple. Would they be prudish? Would they recoil? Ha! They laughed louder than the rest of us! My only wish was that Woody Allen himself could've been present to see how much fun these folks had watching his movie. I truly think he would've gotten as big a kick out of it as Jonathan and I did that afternoon. What a fabulous escape that movie proved to be and it taught me a lesson which was no matter how old we are, no matter how much we can't see, or hear, you never have to lose your sense of humor, or sense of self and just because you're old doesn't mean you don't love a good orgasm joke! As Jonathan and I left the theatre and walked out into the burning summer heat, I smiled and hoped that one day we could be that couple, too. And maybe we'll have a/c in our house by that stage of our lives.