Like God's Own Mercy

A few days ago, my worst summertime fears were realized: my central A/C stopped working. This is a matter of extreme discomfort living in a place that is, in fact, a swamp that was converted into a city about 300 years ago. It felt like I was existing in the lyrics of a Bobby Gentry song. You know, one of those "swamp sagas" that her career was built on. Songs that painted a picture of dusty delta days where your neck is constantly slicked with perspiration and the mosquitoes dance the Calinda with your leg hairs. I contacted my sympathetic land-lady who sent someone out almost immediately. A cute Y'at attended to my needs called Henry. Turns out the problem was amended with a simple fuse change. He also told me what to do with the little starchy bananas that grow in the courtyard. Apparently, to make them palatable, one coats them in a flour-egg batter and fries them in butter, after which a generous dusting of powdered sugar is applied. I mopped my face with a handkerchief and said "well, I'll be. I wondered what to do with those little things...." Alas, our courtship ended as quickly as it had begun. I will remember forever the whirlwind that was our romance. I will revisit those memories often, perhaps when the pain of losing him is not so fresh.

Whenever I would mention to someone that my A/C was not working, the response I received was always the same: "My God! You have to be kidding! How will you survive? You won't!" I considered how the people who lived in this house a hundred years ago survived the humidity and the heat of Louisiana summers without icy cold air falling from the 14 foot ceilings and being circulated by fans turning lazily in the rooms. I realized that they were made of stronger stuff than me. I imagined long summer afternoons sitting in courtyards draped with shady banana trees, sipping cold drinks and swatting mosquitoes while fanning oneself with handheld rattan fans purchased at the French Market. Seersucker suits wicked the perspiration from the surface of your skin to cool you with each gentle breeze through the leaves. Conversations varied from the latest Congo Square gossip to the incredible watermelon that was enjoyed the previous Sunday. The romantic notions in my mind of those long-gone days of New Orleans summers past
were pushed aside when I heard the A/C unit kick on one of it's many cycles through the day. Cold air falling from the ceiling vents to be twisted around the room by the fans constantly turning this time of year. Sweet indoor comfort, like God's own mercy.