up and away

Right now the coolest place to be (besides Megadodo Publishing*) is comfortably seated in front of this large fan filling the lower half of the doorway. This is summer as I remember it as a child, except that for some reason my body seemed to shed the excess heat a good deal more efficiently back then. (Yes, Willa, that would have been the sixties.) Alas, the garden is all wilty, as is just about any human you might happen to encounter away from air conditioning. Heat and drought, and yet the summer started out so cold and wet. I understand that the latter weather scenario has been playing out in Mongolia, so things average out around the globe.

For some reason this weather has me thinking about riding in a hot air balloon -- well, that's technically inaccurate because you don't ride in the balloon, do you? More like under it. Anyhow, if I had a bucket list (which I don't, and I've never seen the movie, either), I would have "riding in (or under, although that could also mean on the ground in some sort of vehicle, which very much misses the point) a hot air balloon" as one of those things I would really like to do someday. And I'm not talking about five bucks to go up on the end of a tether and come back down like a ride at the carnival. I would be quite keen to pack a lunch and ride the wind until sundown. I understand there isn't much steerage. One could easily end up in New Hampshire, or something. That's what the champagne is for; so the landowner doesn't come out and skewer the pilot with a pitchfork.

Many years ago** when I was living back on the farm, someone landed a balloon in one of our meadows. It was a lovely thing, two shades of green and white. I was always one of those kids who was hoping some sort of aircraft (or spacecraft) would land somewhere on the farm and weird adventure would ensue. So even though I was well past old-enough-to-know-better, I still got that same happy tingle to see this huge object hovering over the meadow. This particular craft was called the Bonny Drifter, and just as in the earliest days of the sport, the pilot almost immediately disembarked and offered me the bottle of champagne. I also got a certificate to prove it had really happened. Of course, I've no idea where that is, but the memory is still clear enough. Great times.

And that's the sort of thing that can happen in the summer. Yeah, it's hot -- blisteringly hot and dry and nearly as life-threatening as 30 below. But it's NOT 30 below, which is what we need to remember, because within five months it could be. And keep an eye out for that polychromatic teardrop shape dotting the horizon in the late afternoon haze. It could be your own Bonny Drifter; have the glasses ready.***
                 
*yup, still reading that
**say thirty for the sake of argument
***utterly meaningless footnote