Hi, I'm Torrey. Welcome to Left Field, where creativity runs amok and imagination is ALWAYS more important than knowledge. Shoes are not allowed but ties are optional. This is a repository of snippets from my life out here in Left Field. One never knows what shiny bits of creativity will be found here... cards, scrapbook layouts, photography, poetry, recipes, ponderings, rantings and musings. It could be anything! Life in Left Field is always changing, always real, always ...interesting.

July 18, 2010

It's AFRICA hot

"Hi, I'm Torrey and I'm an air-conditioning addict" (the group replies "Hi Torrey!" in unison as they all sit huddled under the air-conditioning vent). 

I admit it...when it comes to air conditioning...I am TOTALLY hedonistic. MY GOODNESS it was hot today. Damn, you'd think this was Texas in July or something. I mean, it's the kind of day where the asphalt melts on the street and makes little tarry lava bubbles at the edge where it meets up with the concrete gutter. Growing up, my sister and I used to play this sadomasochistic little game where we'd douse our bare feet with cold water from the garden hose then run out to the middle of the street as fast as we could and see who could stand on the hot pavement the longest. The loser was the first one who ran back to the cool, grassy haven of the wet lawn, screaming "OUCH OUCH OUCH". Can't remember who won. Didn't matter--because, we'd do it again and again until our poor little soles were covered in hot tar and starting to blister. The kicker is that our mom actually let us do this. Maybe she thought we were just out there watering the yard. If she only knew. Yep, we obviously came from the shallow end of our gene pool--Torrey and Heidi Gump, that's us.

Anyway, today was the type of day where you open the door to the outside and are immediately assaulted by a slap-in-the-face of hot, humid air--the kind that makes your breath catch in your chest; sorta like breathing through a hot, wet sock. Then, I started to sweat. In the 20 seconds or so it took me to reach the car, the back of my neck was sopping and my eyes were stinging from sweat dripping down my face as my glasses started to slide off my nose. Whoever said that "women DON'T sweat; they glow" --was either a) retarded; b) had never been around a woman; or 3) lived in northern Alaska and never traveled further south than 69.4 degrees north latitude. Like Eugene Morris Jerome in "Biloxi Blues" said when he got off the bus in Mississippi, "...it's like Africa HOT. Tarzan couldn't take this kinda hot."

Ice cream...THAT is what I needed on a day like today. And in the distance, I heard it--that unmistakable "tinkle ting ting" of an ice cream truck nearby. So, I followed the jingly tune; my mouth started to water at the thought of creamy, cold, ice-creamy deliciousness. Then, the ice cream truck's tune kind of went all wobbly...like an old LP record that had been left on a sunny windowsill for a couple of days. And, the melody wound down in a sort of deathly dirge until it sputtered and stopped altogether. As I turned the corner, I found out why---

It's hot. It's AFRICA hot.


  1. Oh my God... I miss you so!

    Jodi - (who by-the-way will spend the morning cleaning up the orange juice that just got snorted all over my monitor and keyboard).

  2. I stole that image of the icecream truck and posted it on facebook, dont worry i linked it to your blog ;)

    Love you,


  3. Hi Sweetheart,
    I love your "Good Humor..Ice cream story.
    I never told you this...but, when I was a little boy, we were so poor that my mother (your grandmother) told me that when the ice cream truck played it's music
    it meant that they were OUT of ice cream !
    Boy, on a hot day I sure wished that he wouldn't play the music ! ! Oh Well ! !

    Really "Cool"? picture.

    I love you....Dad


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