Summer is only a month away, but as usual here in Florida we get it early. People envy us, until the temperature tops 100 degrees Fahrenheit with 100 percent humidity. Then, not so much. (And I want to know how it’s possible to have 100 percent humidity without having rain. Could someone please explain that to me?)
When I was a child up north, my main signal that it was summer was no more school. But I have since put away childish things and moved southward. Now I have other signs. For example, two inch long dead cockroaches start showing up in my shower stall. I have no idea why, but it is always thus. And slugs start sliding up my windows. That always adds a certain something to the view.
Back when I still owned a house, salamanders would congregate on the ceiling of my front porch. Love bugs threaten to choke our car radiators, and everything gets covered with a thick green coating of pollen. My sinuses pretty much slam shut until October. And then there’s the barking of the baby crocodiles. All. Night. Long.
As a bridgetender I get to see all the rich people migrating back up north in their sailboats, and I can look up and see the Canada geese heading the same direction. We also get even more joggers trying to run across the bridge, delaying our openings as the boats are bearing down upon us. And not one, not one captain offers me a day out on the water to beat the heat. The nerve of some people.
Another common indication that it’s summer for me is that relatives and friends start asking if they can sleep on my couch on their way to Disney World. If it weren’t for Mickey Mouse I’d probably be a recluse. It’s a small world after all.
Small, yes, but they make one hell of a racket.
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