Sonora was blessed with glorious clouds today. They blew in at just past 11:30 and did not leave till late in the evening. They covered the sun. They darkened the town. And they kept out the heat. Well, a little.
I have managed just one post in four weeks for a single reason: heat. The mercury has hovered at the century line for all but my first two weeks here. I have seen my car’s outside temperature gauge reach 112 here in Sonora. And, of course, there is the egg I cooked on a rusting saw blade. Thus, I have avoided my warm laptop.
It sounds a poor excuse; perhaps the heat has addled my brain. My cabin remains hot and all the methods I have tried—air conditioning, frequent cold showers, full ventilation—are either pointless or dangerous (I awoke covered in bites after keeping my bedroom window open, which I suppose is fitting as my poison oak had just cleared up).
So, my cabin is hot. But what is it like? I live in the renovated office of the former sawmill. Living room and kitchen have wooden floors and tasteful wooden paneling covers two of the four walls of the former. One of the remaining walls houses nearly a dozen large wooden cabinets and the other a cutout that looks into the narrow kitchen—which is a corridor of pasted together cabinets and tile, much acquired at scrap yards. The bedroom is the only carpeted area, and for that reason the room I sleep in stays a few degrees above the rest of the place—entirely soporific. The bathroom is also tiled with scrap, though one could hardly tell for a single blue tile which could well be seen as an artistic statement to the unknowing. The sink, however, is clearly a find, all 20 gallons of it stretching deep into the counter. All in all it’s a wonderful place, but hot. Excuse me while I pass out.
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