"Hot, ain't it ? ! " . . .

. . . or so goes a phrase often heard around here at this season.  Occasionally, the weather forecast includes a reference to these being "Dog days", followed by pictures of cute puppies being lazy. And, such may be the general understanding of the expression. It's a time when pet dogs and people lounge around, not wanting to over-exert and get 'dog tired'.  The phrase generally refers to the hot, sultry time in the Summer from early July til early September when rainfall is lowest.  The history of the expression lies with the Romans who realized that the stifling weather coincided with the time when the Dog Star, Sirius, rose and set with the Sun.  

    Wikipedia notes that the ancients considered dog days to be an evil time when "the seas boiled, wine turned sour, dogs grew mad, and all creatures became languid."  Indeed, the weather of the season
can produce a stagnation of body, mind and spirit. . . tempers can be short, irritants more numerous (think, mosquitoes, ticks,gnats and  flies), energy is minimal (a former neighbor from England said that the season was 'Damned Debil-i-ta-ting'), and little seems to interest us.  Sometimes we 'drag around' , seeking relief. 

    For many the advent of air conditioning has brought options other than opening windows and doors, or sitting on the porch or under a shade tree. Someone once wrote that the American South at this time of the year is a place where it is 'always 90* in the shade'.  A brother who lives in New Hampshire where the Seasons are but Winter and July 4, has vowed that only a family emergency can bring him to N.C. in August.

    Last Winter I made a solemn promise to myself: "I will not complain about the Summer's heat after all this snow and cold."  So far, I have kept the promise (if this post be excepted). Although there have been ample 90* days this year (yesterday was one and today 'has promise') . . . and more are forecast. . .I am grateful that the challenge of 'dog days' this year has not been as  formidable as in the recent past. 

    Dad often advised 'don't let the monkey get you', meaning don't get overheated. I began musing about various ways we attempted to 'stay cool' when I was a youth.  Before Dr. Salk's vaccine eliminated polio epidemics, my brothers and I spent languid afternoons on a pallet on our back porch, reading comic books and listening to a nearby radio station whose afternoon programming was for kids.  I won a $1 savings bond starter from  WNAO , a Raleigh station, when they telephoned, asking me to name that tune they were featuring.  I missed it, but got the consolation prize rather than the bountiful $2 cash that the correct answer would have fetched.

    'Water' often provided relief.  We called it 'getting under the hose' . . . spraying each other with refreshing coolness.  Dad or other fathers of our group often drove us on Sunday afternoons to Pullen Park in Raleigh, there being no community pool in our town. Returning home, there was always the stop at Dairy Queen.  Mr. Schaub, the father of a school mate, built a pool at their house and often invited my brother and me to swim on Sunday afternoons.  In time, he filled it in with dirt because they had so many uninvited guests. 

    And, there was 'home-made' ice cream, oscillating fans, and ceiling fans and awnings, especially in stores.  'Hand-held funeral home air conditioners' provided some relief.  These were fans that were imprinted with advertisements for local merchants, often the morticians.

      Perhaps the late Nat Cole overly romanticized the 'lazy, hazy, crazy days of Summer'.  Still, I prefer this Season to the 'stuff' we had several months ago.  
   
     Stay cool ! (not cold)
        
         Satchel

CLISBY

         Last night I learned that Clisby had died; that he had been gone for almost five years.  I was shocked, saddened and embarrassed.  I called to wish him a 'Happy Birthday', Number 77, something that I formerly did with some regularity.  Last year, the date had slipped my mind . . . but what of the other 3 omissions ?!  I would have bet that I had called the previous year.The shock was in the realization of the rapid passing of years; saddened and embarrassed that I had failed to stay in contact with someone who had once thrown me a 'lifeline'.

     In 1982, having lost my teaching job, I became an entrepreneur . . . as a broker of college textbooks.  Through an intermediary, Clisby took note of my business volume and offered me employment as a representative of his company.  The arrangement that eventually evolved was that I would work with the company but not for them.  There were subtle nuances in the arrangement, for certain.  One such was the irregularity of cash flow. . . not exactly 'feast or famine' but somewhere close.  Going far beyond what our agreement  obligated him to do, Clisby found 'creative' ways to assist me through several financial hard spots.  Simply said, he trusted me . . . in many ways, including with large sums of money on occasion. And it was more than a business association. At least once during the brief time we worked together, I was a dinner guest in their home.

     I well remember an occasion when a house payment was due and I had to ask his assistance.  Receiving (or so it seemed to me) some words of displeasure from his boss, Clisby found a way to provide me an 'advance' of compensation.  Working with him and his organization made possible a relocation to another part of the state, a development with unforeseen future implications, notably a entirely new professional career.

    After his retirement, he and his wife moved to the South Carolina coast.  On several occasions when we vacationed in the area, I would arrange to meet Clisby for breakfast and each time again to say 'thanks'.  Last night when his wife answered my call and told me of his passing, I offered my much belated condolences and apologies.  She was very gracious.  I told her again of my gratitude for his friendship and 'saving me ' at that crucial juncture.  She called him 'a white knight'.  He certainly rescued me at a time I was in 'great distress'.  

    Now, each August 9th, I want to remember to say a prayer of appreciation for one who extended a 'helping hand' when I was struggling.

    "Thanks, Clis."
         Satchel