Summer, in All Its Glory

We were sitting in front of the t.v. fanning ourselves at about 7pm tonight when suddenly everything clicked off.  The power was out.  Woe.  I thought fearfully of a night without AC, of my freezer full of carefully cooked meals dribbling juices out the door in a big savory mess, and worse – of spending the long early part of the evening (when Angus is ALWAYS awake and pummeling me) with nothing to do in the dark.  Then we decided to stop wailing and tearing our clothes and gnashing our teeth, and go on walk to get some ice cream.

We put the dog on a leash, the kid in a stroller, and waded our way out into the sodden air.  Within minutes, Jack had an enormous mosquito bite on his face, another on his neck, and his father and I were grumblingly slapping away at the miserable creatures.  Our clothes were stuck to our backs, and the dog was panting and rolling around in every bit of mud and puddle and dirt and mess he could find.

However, the power was out at home (and along much of the route there), so nothing to do there, and we had ice cream as our destination – always a good motivator.  Onward we marched.  I won’t lie – I was half hoping that the Creamery’s power would be out, too, and we would be asked to hurry up and help eat all of the ice cream before it melted.  I was up for the task, but alas, their block was still lit up and air conditioned, so no heroics were called for.  Instead, we paid nearly ten dollars for two waffle cones, single scoop each, and didn’t mind because it really is one of the best ice cream shops I’ve ever ben to.

I had red velvet cake ice cream, and The Professor bananas foster.  Jack ate pieces of our cones, which he called cracker.  Virgil panted.  We marched home, hurriedly licking away at the melting cones before they ended up a puddle on our shirts.  When we got back, the power was back on, and we walked into a blast of AC that was like heaven.

Ah, the Crescent City, a place where in summer you happily pay more than your rent each month for air conditioning, and would probably sell your soul (or your child?) for a pool.  We’re seriously considering taking back that terrifying crab pool we bought for Jack, and trading it in for something bigger that we can all sit in.  Or maybe a sprinkler would do.  Or perhaps we’ll just be forced to make daily trips to the best ice cream shop in the South.  Worry not, dear readers – we’ll find a means to cope.  Just as long as the power stays on.