“To enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for
there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by
contrast. Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you are
all over comfortable, and have been so a long time, then you cannot be
said to be comfortable any more. For this reason a sleeping apartment
should never be furnished with a fire, which is one of the luxurious
discomforts of the rich. For the height of this sort of deliciousness is
to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the
cold of the outer air. Then there you lie like the one warm spark in the
heart of an arctic crystal.”
―
Herman Melville
I'm
by nature a northern person and can only take hot weather in small
doses, especially hot, humid weather. The cool dampness of the Pacific
Northwest, up to and including southeast Alaska, is my ideal climate.
I've lived on tropical isles in the western Pacific and in East Asia and
Central Asia. Tropical isles can be nice because of the trade winds
blowing and the frequent rain squalls, but hot, humid East Asia and hot,
dry, dusty Central Asia...no thanks.
And the southeastern states, with
all that muggy heat, I can hardly stand to wear clothes. In a way,
there is a certain pleasure in relaxing on the porch of an old house of a
southern evening, wearing as little as possible, sipping something with
ice and lemons and gin in it, with the night air like black velvet on
your skin, listening to crickets, frogs and night birds.
As
to what Melville wrote, I agree completely. Even in winter I sleep
with the window open a crack. Once, I slept in an attic with poorly
sealing windows and cracks in the roof through which snow flakes drifted
and swirled. There was a skim of ice in the glass of drinking water on
the table by my bed. I snuggled deep in my down comforter, toasty warm
as I watched my breath make clouds. It was delightful.
