Last Monday at 8am, a band of workmen arrived to install our home air-conditioning, or heat pump, or whatever you call it that will cool the house in summer and warm it in winter, turning my semi-reclusive artist's retreat into a chaotic construction site. And all because of global warming, which supposedly will continue to worsen, and after forking over many thousands of dollars I certainly hope it does.
But the guys -- a rotating cast of seven from Dave's World -- were so nice, they made the process of tearing up walls, drilling holes in ceilings and raining insulation dust onto everything a good time. Don't ask my cat, however, as after this week, during which Lurch got trapped in the ceiling for 28 hours, he will surely require Prozac, or maybe shock therapy, if he even lives through this -- at age 16 he is definitely on his ninth life.
During the worst of it I reflected on the cavemen and women -- back then there were only the two genders -- who endured intense heat waves without central air, or even a window unit. Or even a window. They were a lot tougher than we are now, I'm guessing. (Except for dying young and eventually becoming extinct.)
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