Heat Monk

I suppose it was the summer of ‘99 or ‘00 when I did a little experiment. I’d sent Henry on a trip to New Jersey for three weeks—previously unheard of for us to be apart that long. Also unheard of for me to send him alone back to the place I’d escaped, where I knew he would be exposed to things like church and meat. But also: cousins. I had (and have) many fond memories of seeing my own cousins in summer, down the shore, learning to play chess and being told in hushed tones about things grownups forbade us to speak about. Like, you know, evil French kissing. I wanted him to know his cousins.

During Henry’s absence, I did an experiment. I wanted to see how long I could go without air conditioning. I wanted to feel the heat. Explore it. Test myself. Seeing as the “air conditioner” we did have in our falling down Hyde Park cottage was more like a prop, making far more noise than cool air, this was not a major stretch. 

When Henry returned, even with the a/c on, he immediately wilted. At first I felt irritated, like he was feigning lethargy. Then I realized— he had left just before the Wall of Heat had fully arrived and returned in the thick of it. He wasn’t being lazy. His body was having trouble acclimating. 

Last summer, as we endured something like 4,000 consecutive days of deadly triple-digit heat, I remember early on coming up with a plan to deal. I would treat this shit like an ice storm, stay inside, be still, wait it out. As the heat wave ran concurrent to my protracted post-shitville mental breakdown, this plan was easy to execute. I was still living in the tiny house I’d bought to hide in, to be away from all humans, to try to heal. 

I got a lot of crafting done.

This year, we made it all the way into early June with evening temperatures still dipping into the upper sixties. I revived that turn-of-the-century experiment and turned the a/c off at night, knowing that even if it was a bit on the warm side at 10 pm, by 2 am it would be comfortable and by pre-dawn I might even pull a blanket over myself. 

I didn’t need a weatherman to know which way the heat was heading once it did get here. The texts started coming in from concerned friends elsewhere in the country. They were reading about Texas streets melting and obscene heat indexes. 

ARE YOU OKAY DOWN THERE?

I’m okay. I’m sitting very still for as much of each day as I can. Three or four times daily, I rouse myself from my position in bed with the dogs and step out into it to refill the water troughs all over the ranch, passing by panting sheep and stock still cows lying in the little shade they can find. 

The other day I was standing in the driveway, the sun was so absolutely concentrated, the heat so breathtakingly oppressive, and I basked in it momentarily, just let it hit me. I remembered how I used to embrace the heat, think of it as Austin’s answer to big mountains and deep seas—our own natural man vs. nature challenge to surmount. Back then, in an odd way I sort of loved the heat. I felt accomplished trekking Town Lake midday, triumphant, dripping with sweat.

No more. Now the heat just makes me thankful for having been born in the sixties, meaning—I hope—that I will be dead before this increasingly worse inferno starts picking off masses of humans and animals on the daily. 

Inside, I am a Heat Monk. I don’t challenge or encourage myself to undertake long neglected projects or think up new ones. I read. I daydream. I meditate. I do a little yoga. More than anything I bond more deeply with the dogs, especially Milo whose failing health is alarmingly obvious. I use this heat prison to try to convince myself to stay present, be grateful for whatever time I have left with him. I also hop on Zillow and look for real estate in upstate New York, fantasizing leaving this meteorological circle of hell once and for all, before remembering the winters would kill me because if I have to pick between freezing to death and sweating to death, I still choose the latter. 

I was, prompted by the heat, visited by the tiniest seed of an idea which I have decided to pursue. I am going to start collecting reusable water bottles and filling them and freezing them and taking them to work with me to distribute to the homeless people that congregate downtown, folks who sit and sleep in the alleys with no escape at all. Keep Austin Hydrated is the project’s name. (There’s info down below if you want to help.)

In other news, my one-month social media, news and refined sugar cleanse is drawing to a close. The sugar thing was a total fail and I find myself frequently eating endless bowls of cereal at the counter, and ice cream for dinner. I do think one reason I caved was knowing I had an imminent dental scaling (now since completed) to remove years of tartar that accumulated during lockdown but not because of lockdown. Even before covid my dental phobia was so bad I often waited years between cleanings. Those bowls of cereal in the days leading up to the 2+ hour procedure felt to me like a drunk downing three bottles of wine on the flight to rehab. 

I have decided I will resume Instagram, though of all the things I cut out, that was what I missed least on a daily basis. Quitting doom scrolling was far more difficult and I confess when Chad told me about that lost submersible I did allow myself to read a bit about that. Mostly though, I stuck with over-investigating Craigslist to get my screen fix. I will also go back to reading the news daily though I do hope I can limit this to brief updates and not get sucked into every shitty headline about every corrupt politician, mass shooting, and other tales of gloom. 

I can’t say I feel “better” or “cleaner” or “new and improved” thanks to my cleanse. I do have a better awareness of my own propensity for habits to kill time and self-soothe. Instead of feeling bad about these things I remind myself that everyone has a bag of tricks for checking out, and that maybe there’s a biological reason we all want to anesthetize ourselves for large chunks of time be it through chemicals, physical exertion, gossip or social media. Which is not the same as suggesting these things are healthy. But best as I can tell we’re all looking for distractions sometimes. 

I notice I have missed sharing photographs. Because when I do venture out to fill those troughs, I find myself tuning in more deeply to the animals, spending more time observing their silliness and their strategies for staying cool. So today, down below, find a mini-photo dump of life as I’ve known it without the benefit of offering daily social media updates. 

I do hope y’all are doing well and staying hydrated and reminding yourself it’s always okay to slow down, take a break, be still. 

NOTES:

CRONE SHENANIGANS is Tuesday July 11th in the Molly Ivins Pavilion. It’s a FREE event for women of a certain attitude. There will be some readings by my Dick Monologues colleagues, music by the amazing Kayla Ludy, arts and crafts and snacks. Starts at 6 pm. Even though it’s free, I do need you to “buy” a ticket at this link because space is limited. 

KEEP AUSTIN HYDRATED—do you have a surplus of reusable water bottles? Swag you grabbed somewhere and then stuffed in a cupboard? I’m most interested in plastic water bottles because I can freeze them, but metal ones can work. If you have some and are coming to Crone Shenanigans, please bring them. If you have some and aren’t coming to the event, please send me a message and we can figure out a handoff plan. 

SUBSCRIPTIONS—If you’re in the position to subscribe to this email for $5 per month/$50 per year, I encourage you to consider that. These days all proceeds go toward Milo’s mounting medical bills. If you’re not in a position to subscribe, it still helps if you share this with folks who might be interested. And one-time tips are always welcome via venmo @spike-gillespie. There’s also a little merch over in the Ranch Merch Shop. 

TINY CHAPEL OF KINDNESS—The next issue of Texas Coop Power Magazine will feature a short essay I wrote about the Tiny Chapel of Kindness. There’s a photo shoot regarding this next Tuesday. I’d really love for there to be more letters about kindness on the chapel walls. If you want to snail mail me a note send it to: 3409 Caldwell Lane, Garfield, TX 78617. If you want to email me a note, I’ll print it up and mount it on pretty paper. I really hope you’ll consider participating in this. There are so many wonderful letters already—it’s a collection worth growing.

Thanks y’all! Love, Spike