I’ve been writing for a decade, and as much as life moves on and changes, the ebb and flow of the seasons bring about repetitive themes, and I think, “I’ve already written about that—how can I tell it any differently?”  Fortunately for me, I can’t remember exactly what I wrote, so on occasion, I give it a go through the lens of today.  Take, for instance, the heat and humidity of summer.  It’s not my cup of tea.  I become lethargic in this season.  I’ve told you that in a myriad of ways over the last decade.  Yet through the close, muggy lens of this summer comes something new to share.

I run ten degrees warmer than my husband Bill and my sons, Will and Liam.  They prefer the indoor main floor temperature to be set at 80 degrees.  On balmy days of relative 100-degree heat, I find the room in the basement to be my retreat.  I close the door then run full throttle the built-in wall air-conditioning unit.  Not only does it cool the room, it also puts a good dose of white noise into the air.  The combination lulls me into a focused state.

One of the first days I discovered this, I wrote for a solid hour, nonstop.  Then a new yet familiar noise started to compete with that of the air-conditioner.  I turned my head to the left and right thinking my eyes or ears might figure it out.  For a moment, I resolved that the sound must be coming from some activity upstairs.  Only when the noise grew a bit more intense did I recognize it: the baseboard heat had kicked on in the room.  Indeed, the thermostat for the heat was set at 62 degrees.  I turned that dial down as low as it would go, to 40 degrees, and let the air-conditioner belt out its song of summer reprieve.