The air conditioner is blasting. It is already 81°. Poor Nala was out for only a short time and came back inside panting. Boxers don’t do well in the heat. Come to think of it, neither do I. Today is a lolling in the cool house day. There is no concert, a scheduling issue, the dump can wait another day, and my larder is full enough. The only thing missing is those Snickers!

When I was a kid, my house was always a cave on hot summer days. Because we had no fans, no way to cool the house, all the shades were down to keep the sun at bay. Once in a while we went to the pool, but it was all the way across town so any benefits from swimming were lost on the walk home. I remember shimmering sidewalks.

When I was young, every summer day was a busy day. I spent almost every day at the playground below my street. I played tennis in the morning and played softball against other playgrounds in the afternoon. I pitched and played first base. There was a horseshoe pit. I was prone to leaners. The activity table, a picnic table, was under the only shady area on the field, off to the side. We played checkers there. I also did crafts. I remember painting a wooden tray with a bird standing on a tree branch beside one white flower. I gave the tray to my mother. I did gimp.

When I was older, I stopped going to the playground. I often went to the library so I could spend my afternoons reading in the darkened, cooler house. At night I had drill practice, mostly on Tuesdays but also some Thursdays. We had competitions every weekend, many times even two competitions. On the off drill nights, my high school friends and I would bowl or even go the drive-in. My life was busy.

In Ghana, school holidays were during our summer months, Ghana’s rainy season. Most holidays I traveled. I’d take a bus to Accra unless I was flush with money and could take a plane from Tamale, 100 miles south of my town, to Accra. I’d stay in the big city a few days, eat at restaurants and see a few movies. I’d catch up with friends at the Peace Corps hostel where we all stayed. Usually I’d get a visa and head to Togo, to Lomé, its capital, for ice cream, French food, shopping at the Grand Marché and at stores filled with imports like Mexico food. I was always amazed at what I could buy. I’d bring home a haul of goodies.

I am a sloth now, a proud sloth, superb at my ability to spend an entire day doing almost nothing except turning the pages of a book. How lovely to while away the hours in a book.