Hiding in the Dark
This morning I did my usual few hours of work on my computer in our study, which is an interior room without windows. I work in the bowels of the building where little can disturb my concentration and I stare at the screen or the wall (albeit I am listening to MSNC on the TV in the corner, but that is hardly a distraction any more, more like an oxygen hose feeding my lungs). I’m not sure if I use that office because of its isolation or because the desktop computer is simply more holistic as a work tool than my otherwise ubiquitous iPad, which goes anywhere with me. If I am in relaxation mode I sit in my ergonomic gravity-less leather chair (pretty much what your Dad called a Barcalounger) and use my iPad on and off to keep myself amused. Sometimes I write, sometimes I browse, sometimes I read, and sometimes I play solitaire. If I am debilitated, I lie on the sofa and get gradually cramped and uncomfortable. If I am feeling productive or creative, I sit at my dining room table with my iPad (much more keyboard-friendly) and have the view out across New York Harbor to the Verrazano Bridge or down into my curio table with its black sand and imbedded antiquities (amphora shards and pre-Colombian pottery from gravesites) from my lifetime of foreign travel and pseudo-archeological efforts. I have all manner of creative postures to use to prompt my efforts. I have no idea why productivity is so important to me, but it just is, so these things seem relevant.
Our living room is small by most standards. It is really an all-in-one room (I cannot bring myself to call it a “great room” in any manner). One wall is kitchen (in the new open kitchen design style), one wall is available for a large-screen TV (we have a massive and wonderful 83” Samsung), and the other two walls are large windows out towards the City and Harbor. Everyone who comes over says its great to have such an urban vista, but I bet that when they leave they make some sort of “fishbowl” comment to themselves. We are very used to the glass walls and never feel spied upon for some reason. The light is a big attraction to the windows and with the rest of the apartment being much darker, this is our uplifting room with all its light.
This morning, after my Saturday morning catechism, I wandered out to the light only to find that my wife Kim had lowered all the semi-opaque shades on all the windows (both walls). In sixteen months in this apartment I had never seen it like this. Clearly she had done it based on the extreme heat warnings all over the airwaves saying that the temperatures will be up over 100 degrees with high humidity. It occurred to me that this was a sensible move in advance of any real need, since the air conditioning was pumping cool air with great enthusiasm. I could also say that the canyon setting of our apartment means that direct sunlight only comes in at certain angles and for short periods of time, so its questionable as to how necessary this extreme “blackout” approach is. But I let the decision to hide in the dark for the day stand.
What this shrouded existence does to one’s mind is quite interesting. When I arrive at our house in California, the same type of shades are drawn to keep sunlight and sun damage to our furnishings to a minimum while we are away. The blinds are the last thing I do when I leave and the first thing I do when I arrive. I never like the shrouded feeling like I never like dimmed light. Some people prefer the coolness or the subtlety of that feeling where I tend to prefer the crispness and clarity of light. When I was growing up in the tropics and then again living in Rome, both lands of the siesta in days gone by, it was not just normal, but expected that shutters would stay closed most of the day to keep the heat of the day out of the living space. Neither benefited from air conditioning in those days, so it was certainly a practical heat management tactic. But today I am rethinking the whole shroud thing. It feels strangely appropriate to our hunker-down and lay-low instructions with regard to managing the extreme heat, despite the existence of fully functioning air conditioning.
I suppose its like staying in bed when you are ill, whether you are sleepy or not. It just seems right to do so. And today we don’t have to go out for any reason other than to walk the dog now and then (lucky for me that’s Kim’s sworn duty and it’s unclear Cecil would even let me drag him out in this heat). I am also a bit ashamed to be so afraid of the heat. I’ve been in much warmer environs, even earlier this year in Death Valley, and I wasn’t so scared of it as to hide in a shady hole. A recent post about the heat led one reader in Arizona to suggest I try Phoenix in the summer before I complain about New York.
So if we are going to treat this heat wave as reason to hunker down and avoid the out of doors and sun (what all the newscasters are suggesting), we will do it privately and hide in the dark of our cave-like apartment. We will move slowly like people are told to do in the heat. We will act like we are at the end of days and waiting for the radioactivity cloud to lift. We will try not to get cabin fever for one long day and maybe we should try not to get melodramatic about it all as well.
I think I may lose my mind if I have to leave these shades drawn and the shroud wrapped tightly around me. In fact, as I look around me I think the north side of windows never get direct light anyway, so those will come up first. Then I will test the five to the west one by one. I am prepared to suffer the heat consequences of lifting all the shades just to get me out of this cloistered state of mind. The thing about hiding in the dark is that you have to be psychologically prepared for the siege.