INSIDE/OUTSIDE

It is closing in on ninety degrees today, with humidity of ten thousand per cent. Normal for Ohio in the world of global warming that Scott Pruitt claims to be fake news. However, Pruitt is not the theme of this post. I just had to get a liberal dig in.

No. Here is what I did today. I vacuumed and washed my car. I watered the plants on my deck. I pulled seven weeds out of the flower bed by my back door. I filled the bird feeders. This entire process took about 40 minutes. By the time I went back into the house, I was drenched in perspiration.

Shift over to the sorts of shows I watch on television. On HGTV, every single buyer, whether they want a house or an apartment, lists “outdoor space” as a priority.

On the sweeping sagas I enjoy watching on PBS, the ones in which folks are apt to wander over the moors, their hair blowing into their mouths and the capes that they wear flapping behind them in the wind, none of them seem to mind the hair or the flapping. As a matter of fact, on one such saga, the Duchess or Lady or whatever her title was, insisted on setting up a tea table on the sweeping lawns of her estate, despite the fact that the table cloth frothed about her legs in the wind and her napkin blew off into the dell. No matter. Her maidservant merely handed her another one.

This insistence on being outdoors confuses me. I have written about this here on more than one occasion, but that is because being outside is vastly overrated. And I have proof. In our neighborhood, folks go out of their way to create outdoor tableaux worthy of Architectural Digest. I bet you know what I am talking about: the Adirondack chairs artfully tilted towards one another under the giant oak. The decks (mine, I have to admit) full of planters crowded with geraniums, lobelia, Boston ferns, and the like. Gorgeous. I go out on mine every morning to water all that stuff. It does look so aesthetically pleasing. But the humidity hits me like a wall and I hustle right back into the air conditioning.

Back to the house hunters, who “can picture myself sitting out there with my morning coffee.” Ha. What a load of bull. How many people wear actual clothing to drink their morning coffee? Only the ones who have to chug it down and get to work. Those people have no time to daydream in the outdoor furniture, sip coffee and look at the geraniums. No. The only people who have time to do that drink their coffee in their pajamas. To further my point, how many of those pajamas come from Ralph Lauren? None of them. The average American wears a tee shirt with grease stains and underpants to bed. Not deckwear.

I have driven through my neighborhood at all times of the day and night. I have admired all of the gorgeous front porches sporting wicker furniture and Ikea cushions. I have taken note of the patios with fire pits and fairy lights. The hammocks under trees and the splashing fountains. And in not one of those yards are people. I know the reason.

Bugs. Bugs and heat. Bugs, heat, and humidity. Bugs, heat, humidity, and sweat. Bugs, heat, humidity, sweat, and dirt. Bugs, heat, humidity, sweat, dirt, and the fact that right inside the house is central air conditioning and the television.

 

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