APFwebs: Letters from the Editor

Shout “Fire”? Not me

Inflamatory.

Get it? Flames. A man can shout “Fire!” in a crowded theater if indeed there is a fire.

It’s indeed been hot in Santa Fe this year. And the past couple years, too. Global warming? At least home-al warming. Used to be, we could sneak through the hot summer with only a couple fans during the day, then escape to the lovely high desert cooling at night. But it seems not so much now.

Maybe we’re getting older and wimpier. Or maybe it’s just getting hotter. For at least two weeks it’s been near intolerably hot inside, and the nights fall to what you might call “room temperature”. Two large fans draw cooler air over us in bed.

We’ve considered a small A/C unit for the living room. A new porch (“portale” as Jill prefers) will cover the house’s backside, mitigating afternoon sun.

A city inspection of digging allowed yesterday’s portale slab pour over hidden post plates. In a week, the brick floor for access; an inspection follows beams and rafters. A final inspection checks a metal roof with skylights. (Inspections. Paperwork. Then we can pull a poster from our streetside window.)

When all is said and done, we’ll move in the grill and a firepit table we bought to sit around with our nightly cocktails. (Iced, of course.) And light up a smoke. All inflamatory.

And maybe we’ll light up the little baby roaster to blacken some hot green chiles.

Hot. Yes, but by then, the summer will have gone up in flames.