WASH OUT

A convertible just went by. With the top down. All I have is a sunroof. Closed most of the time. Like our house.

Forced air is what I breathe unless I'm outside. It's not a choice. It's a command. By the One I Love. I accept. Grumbling, all too often.

I've always liked to be outside. I taught for years without A/C. I wanted forced air then. But for me, even if it means my allergies act up, I'll take the air. Even in the cold Midwest nights, I'd sleep with a window cracked if it were up to me.

Now when it gets uncomfortably hot or cold, I'm ready for some forced. But until then, bathe me with breezes. But not stagnancy. Air must move, not stifle.

And the sun. Oh, yes. Bright sunshiney days. Maybe a small white cloud floating along, but it must move. It must not join others to form any kind of curtain. Except for just after sunrise and just before sunset. Then it can cloud up to hide the reflective brightness at eye level. But then it can clear up again for spectacular sunrises and sunsets, multi-colored, multi-formed.

Is all that too much to ask? Of course not. See how easy I am to get along with?