βIs this David?β It was Aunt Monica calling from Wisconsin.
βHey, Aunt Monica. Whatβs up? Did something happen? Is Uncle Joe okay?β
βWeβre all fine. I just wanted to hear your voice.β She was lying. Every winter I call to brag about how beautiful our weather is here in Tucson. It was her turn. βSo howβs the weather today, Mr. Sunshine?β
βItβs a little warm.β
βItβs 73 degrees here.β
βIβm happy for you.β
βYup. Just another gorgeous Wisconsin day. Weβre all outside, sitting on the porch enjoying our iced teas and the breeze off the lake. Couldnβt be nicer. I heard youβve had a couple of scorchers. NPR said it was 112 degrees.β
βIt was 110.β
βAl Roker said 112 degrees.β
βWell, Aunt Monica, we just sacrificed a gila monster and we read its entrails and they say itβs 110.β
βYou poor things.β
βWeβre fine. We love the heat.β
Aunt Monica told me I must be suffering from heatstroke.
βIβm serious. I love the summer heat. Itβs awesome.β
She questioned my sanity. I told her how I like to feel the warm sunshine on my face and shoulders. Itβs like a hot massage.
βReally?β
βReally!β I told her how I like to drive with the windows down because I like the feel of a blowtorch burning the flesh off my skull.
Long silence.
βDriving is a real pleasure in the middle of summer. Itβs like rolling down the road strapped into a broiler oven. I love it! You sweat so much the front seat becomes a SlipβN Slide.β
Aunt Monica said my maniacal laughter was βdisturbing.β
βI love the summer heat! I love the way the cicadasβ incessant buzzing burrows into your ears with a sound like a belt grinder in Hellβs machine shop. The βAβ on βAβ Mountain has melted into a βw.β The Catalinas have been bleached gray, every saguaro is holding a parasol and Iβm growing horns.β
Aunt Monica was concerned that Iβd been spending too much time outdoors. βYou should see a doctor.β
βHa, ha, ha. Iβm fine, Monica. Did I tell you I made a chaise lounge out of solar oven reflectors? I like to lay in it until I hear bacon sizzling. After my last sunburn I peeled off an entire husk of myself. Itβs hanging in my closet next to the other skin peels. Iβm telling you this place is paradise when the temperatures are rising! Come see for yourself!β
She declined.
βYour loss! This time of year is the best time to be here! Every time the sun sets the horizon catches on fire. Itβs spectacular! Last weekend Gates Pass was totally incinerated and little Mattieβs head spontaneously combusted when it was nipped by an errant solar flare.β
Aunt Monica asked me if I was taking my meds.
βNope. Just daily walks. Mid-day. I love the heat! Sucks the life out of every living creature. Itβs cleansing. Purifying. Some people pay corporate trainers thousands of dollars to master the art of walking on coals. Here you can master the same skills fetching the daily mail in your bare feet. As soon as my hooves heal Iβll be ready to audition for Riverdance.β
βHooves?β
βYeah. By mid-June we all grow horns and hooves. Hey, did I tell you that summer is our autumn?β
βWhat are you talking about?β
βOur sunburns are red, the dead leaves are brown, and the shriveled prickly pear have all turned gold.β
At this point she mentioned the cold watermelon they were enjoying. Along with that cool breeze off the lake. Again.
βSorry. Canβt compare with Tucson cuisine in the summer. Nothing tastes better in the summertime than a piping hot pizza freshly baked on a manhole cover, served with a side of broiled scorpions and a mug of lava. Did you know that salsa makes sunscreen taste better?β
Aunt Monica thought I needed a vacation.
βAnd leave this? Thereβs no better time of year for burning mesquite chips in my fire pit and stirring the embers with my pitchfork like a demon cast down into Hell, stoking and sifting the brimstone and lava. I like the summer heat so much that last week I did a sweat lodge in a parka and ski pants. In an empty parking lot on Speedway. At one in the afternoon. The EMTs ruined everything.β
She said she was going to fly here in the morning. βIβm going to see to it that you get the help you need.β
Itβs too bad she hung up. I was going to tell her how I paid Virgin Galactic to fly me to the sun so I could rub my face in its flaming surface and give it a big kiss. And yes, Aunt Monica, I was smart enough to pack Chapstick.
Summer in Tucson. Itβs the best.