How I love air-conditioning! I’m camped out in my office, reflecting on the blessing and gift of AC. And yes, I understand the terrible irony of it: air-conditioning puts carbon in the atmosphere, which leads to global warming, which leads to wacky weather that plagues the Northwest with desert temperatures, the Southeast with drought, and the Northeast with floods. Ideally we humans will figure out how to cool ourselves–and transport ourselves, and warm ourselves, and everything else we do–without making the whole situation worse. But for now, I hope you can understand that I’m choosing to enjoy a few hours of AC.

If you’re interested in my take on the ethics involved, read further.

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We’re in the–what is it now?–fourth or fifth day of the heat wave? Or is it ten or twelve? I know it hasn’t rained properly for three months. Yesterday it was at least 97 degrees, if not higher in some places. My household has been camping out in the basement at night. The dogs go on shorter walks, much earlier in the morning. Lots of ice cubes in their water dishes. And still–it’s way too hot.

I have relatives in Arizona, and I wonder if they would laugh at this. 97 degrees?! That’s spring weather, right? And my relatives in Minnesota would point out that they have 90-degree weather at some point every summer, and lots of humidity to boot.

I don’t care. It’s really hard for Seattlites to handle extreme weather. We don’t have enough air conditioners, or snow plows. Most of us moved here because we enjoy temperate weather. And if you think we’re wimps, I would only introduce you to Arizonans and Minnesotans who can’t endure the Seattle rain. It’s always hard to deal with something that’s both uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

On top of the weather–or is it because of the weather?–there seem to have been a few more crime stories in the last few days. Three murders, one of them about a mile from my house. And a disturbing story of cruelty that really threw me. I’m not the type to panic when a string of stories like these come out, and I know that awful things happen when the weather is nice. But I do have a sense that the city is really feeling strung out right now. Tempers are short, and it really, really is *hot*.

All of which leads to this advice: don’t push yourself too hard this week. Take the weather seriously. If you don’t live in air-conditioning, take advantage of it whenever you can. Wear lots of sunscreen. And above all, drink lots of water! For Seattlites, 97 degrees is really awful. It’s something that can lead to injury–even tragedy. Be careful out there!

P.S. My office is air-conditioned! Come on in for a session!

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I just returned to Seattle after a week-long service project in New Orleans. Our group worked on homes in the Gentilly and Upper Ninth Ward areas of the city, north and east of downtown. We managed to get to the French Quarter a couple of times, since the trip wasn’t all work and no play. (That just wouldn’t go over well in the Big Easy.)

I was glad to do this. It was the first time I’ve done several things–hanging Sheetrock on a ceiling, nailing siding on a house, mudding and sanding and priming walls, laying ceramic tile. I was glad to make a small contribution to the cause. The homeowners we worked with are proud of their city and see their return home as a way to honor their heritage. After all, New Orleans is a city where generations of families spanning three hundred years have chosen to stay and flourish. To move to Houston (or Seattle, for that matter) in the wake of a hurricane is a momentous decision for a New Orleanian. The culture of the Crescent City is not big on the notion of diaspora.

And yet, I had a divided heart about our work. The map below, from 1728, roughly thirty years into the history of New Orleans, shows how the city was wholly confined to what we now call the French Quarter. There’s high ground around the Quarter, hugging the north bank of the Mississippi, but fully 80% of New Orleans was devastated (or completely destroyed) by Katrina. And that 80% was built on drained swamps. When you walk up to a levee, you can see the river (or Lake Pontchartrain) standing high above the streets and neighborhoods behind you. It’s unsettling. It’s not unreasonable to ask why–even in light of the great heritage of the New Orleanians who long so desperately to come home–we rebuild here.

One of my work partners was insightful about it. She said that it’s obviously much harder and less sensible to build houses below sea level, but it’s not really an unusual thing for humans to do. Across the world we’ve built cities in the unlikeliest of places–scorching desert, frigid tundra, and atop earthquake fault lines, to name just three. New Orleans is no different. It’s harder to build here than, say, Lincoln, Nebraska. But not everyone wants to live in Nebraska.

Whatever my thoughts and feelings about all this, it was gratifying to go to another part of the world and lend a hand. And I also had this thought: it may not have been as much about the actual work as much as simply being present with our fellow citizens in New Orleans. A catastrophe like Hurricane Katrina is a once-in-a-century body blow to a city, and whether or not you want to lay bathroom tile, your simple presence (and yes, the money you spend on a sazerac), is treasured.

But if you’re like me, you won’t go until later in the year. It is *muggy* down there right now!

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