It's too hot to trot, or do anything for that matter.
It's 43°C today. We're sweating even when we're not moving. There's a hot wind raging through the tree's and it makes you think of bushfires. Or of a very big oven. This is what it must feel like to be a cookie baking. I'm not sure Mountain Dad will even leave the house today; we have the air conditioning blasting and our living space sealed off from the rest of the house in a vain attempt to create a bearable temperature.
Of course this is the day that Lox has the first birthday party that he's been invited to. It's at a massive trampoline world; a huge steel warehouse full of inflatables and trampolines and a lot of hot little bodies. I've brought the laptop to do some work while the party parties. Adelaide has brought a friend, so she has company to run amok with. Every time that Lox and his crew swing by, my little one stands out with his flaming cheeks and sweat-beaded upper lip. As with his sensitive nature, I reckon he has inherited his Dad's sensitivity to hot weather. They both wilt like sad little exotic flowers when the mercury rises above 30°C. We're all fearful of the impending summer and wonder how we will survive.
And I marvel that, if this were -43°C, I'd be reveling in the stillness, the crisp quiet, the utter beauty. When did I evolve from beach-babe to snow-bunny? Why does this heat feel so unnatural and foreign? It reminds me of the difficulty I had adjusting to Yukon life. When Spring would slowly melt away the snow and my Mountain Man would bemoan the loss of skiing and all things winter, I'd consider him in astonishment. Surely that was a thing to be celebrated? Summer meant a shedding of snow gear and donning of bikini. Slowly, I was to realize that the Yukon summer would not mean the same thing that summer meant in Australia. Having optimistically moved to Canada to be with my Mountain Man, I was naive enough to think that I would live a life that directly replicated the activities I pursued in Australia. Though I'd put on my bikini, the lakes were too cold to really swim in. The beach never hot enough to truly lay out on for very long. I remember trying to work on my tan in my Whitehorse backyard then realizing that even if I did tan, it would never see the light of day as Yukon summer ware, rarely involves shorts.
Once I let go of my expectation that the Yukon summer would be the equivalent of an Australian one, life got a whole lot happier. When I could accept the Yukon for what it was, I was better able to relish its gifts. I think that that is the transition that we're going through as family right now. When we drive anywhere in town, we expect it to take no more than fifteen minutes, like our usual commutes in Whitehorse. We've been frustrated to realize that the minimum drive in this city entails a half hour in the car. And then when you arrive, you'll take another twenty minutes to find a park. And then it's never in the shade, which is clearly what you need on these stinking days. Or at the very least you should have one of those shiny, reflective windscreen covers that every other car puts up to try to keep it cool inside. When we go outside to play in the sun, we forget that you must apply sunscreen, every single time, or you end up fried. And I am forever forgetting that chocolate is not a great camping snack here, unless you're after partially-melted goo. Though, due to the absence of bears, it doesn't really matter if the kids end up with chocolate covered clothes...
The list goes on. Our adjustment continues and, slowly, we're adapting. To a new town. New friends. New jobs. New landscapes that want to be explored. New rhythms that tinkle their way into creation.
But the heat. That, my friends, takes adapting and accepting to a whole other level. Let's check in again throughout the summer and see how we're holding up.
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