Good news. Vinay, the air conditioner repair man, is coming on Sunday. Sunday. Mid-morning. What a champion.
Heat
The city is sweltering through a summer spike and our fossil-fuel guzzling refrigeration unit has been caput for six weeks. Most of that time we’ve been out of town, but not now. And we’re melting. We could spend our days dipping in and out of the backyard pool, but that’s not very practical for a girl who spends most of her life in the office. There’s also the vanity issue. No-one wants pool hair on the supermarket run.
Escape
The Socialite and I escaped the hot box today with a play date at the gallery. She’s my photography buddy and is much bolder with her settings, tweaking aperture, ISO and shutter speed with flying fingers as she squats and leans and lies low to grab the best frame. While I’m fiddling with my lens cap she’s already captured a streaking toddler or a shaft of light. She finds angles and dappled patterns and reflections before I’ve even put the camera to my eye. I read and practise and analyse photography. She just looks and shoots. And her shots are amazing.
Catching Up
It was The Socialite who introduced me to Caitlin and Tom, great friends I met when our kids started at the local primary school. Those kids are at uni now and have gone their separate ways, but I’m not ready to let go of Caitlin. She lives around the corner but might as well hang out on Mars for all the time we spend together. We’ve been trying to catch up for Christmas drinks since November 2015. Tonight we finally got there, spending two hours in the breeze on their back deck not finishing a dozen stories, drinking wine and swapping tales about family deaths, near deaths and cockroaches in Thai restaurants. Laugh, we nearly cried. And can’t for the life of me understand why we don’t do it more often.
For the record
I’ve only thought about The Athlete twice today. But I’m going to check my phone now to see if she’s texted.
The other December baby clings to life.
