Here comes the sun

I was not made for heat.

Toronto is sweltering under a heat wave, and twice in the last few days I have found myself being sucker punched by heat exhaustion. The first time it happened I was taken by surprise; I thought I had balanced sunblock, shade and hydration with the amount of sun I was getting while taking in Pride events on Church Street. At the end of the day I was tired, irritable, dizzy, barely able to lift my backpack, and headache-y.

The second time I was just stupid: I ventured out for the Pride parade, armed with more sunblock, water, and an umbrella. The happiest of parades, however, just would not end and after more than two hours I found myself swaying into S.'s arms and then later vomiting on my way home. I called in sick to work, stood under a cold shower for ten minutes, and crawled into bed to sleep away my headache.

Winter weather never makes me feel this shitty.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that all of my ancestors came from climates that are not well-known for being toasty (I'm largely of Irish, Ukrainian, and Russian Tatar descent, as well as some Scottish, English, French all on my dad's side, and a sliver of Spanish on my grandfather's paternal side). My mother (who is the product of a mostly Irish father and a Ukrainian / Russian Tatar mother) has the build of a sturdy Eastern European peasant who could spit out babies with ease while grinding flour or some such. We don't look very much alike, except perhaps in the face. She is short and curvy, with a wide jaw and a mouth filled with beautiful white teeth that have always reminded me of Chiclets. Her arms and legs are thick and muscular. I am taller, narrower, with dark brown hair and white skin that freckles and burns, but doesn't tan. I mostly resemble my father, who is an ageing hippie and retired computer sciences professor with a WASP-y upbringing. We share the same thin arms and legs, small jaw and crowded teeth (although mine have been improved by orthodontia), papery white skin, and dark hair, although his has greyed substantially. He does not fare well in the sun, either. The top of his head becomes pink at the slightest ray of sun and he will burn and peel if he's not careful.

My mother, though, she tans beautifully in the summer, says that she was built for working in the fields under the sun, and that I was made for sitting in a dark house, looking pale, and mastering embroidery. I do two of those things exceptionally well. I don't tan, I burn, and I generally prefer to avoid the sun and stay indoors. More than anything, I appreciate Canada for it's temperate climate. I love experiencing four seasons, and I love winter more than any other. I love snow, I love wool coats and scarves, I love being cold and then getting home and warming up with a mug of hot chocolate and a fleecy blanket. There are some nice things about summer (ie. flowers, the ice cream truck, having sex outdoors, excellent thunderstorms, and visiting our family cottage) but by and large I find myself tolerating summer until cooler weather begins to make an appearance in August.

Now, though, it is so hot in Toronto that everyone (who previously loved summer and called me crazy for my life-long love of wintertime) is crying about the heat. I just want to point out that I was saying I dislike hot weather waaaay before all of y'all.

The fact that the power went out this afternoon only made things worse. People are cranky in general, I've found, and if you take away their air-conditioning they become downright unreasonable. Facebook and Twitter exploded with complaints about the incredibly high temperatures and the sudden lack of air-conditioning; an explosion at a transformer station on Kipling in Toronto's west-end (much closer to where my parents live than to where I live) leaves everyone wondering who to blame for incompetence, negligence, etc. and so on ad nauseum. I hope beyond all hope that the explosion was caused by an overload on the system. I am always delighted by situations where people seeking to lay blame find that they are the ones at fault.

As for me, I am hiding out in my old room in my parents's (finished) basement, where the sun barely peeks in through the windows at any time of the day, and where it is always cool in the summer and warm in the winter. When I lived at home it was an oasis of calm for me, always cool and quiet, giving me the feeling that I am cut off from the rest of the world. I could always hide out here, away from my mom's moods or my father's preaching about whatever aspect of my life he feels could benefit from improvement.

Down here it is almost chilly. I think of the thick basement walls blocking out all that steamy, stinky city air, and I really see no reason to go outside anytime soon.