Fifty clues it's summer in Tucson

Fitz Fifty

Jun 02, 2023

When mom would hang laundry up on the clothesline outside our Tucson hacienda I’d hand her the soaked clothes and listen to her sing a song from her childhood called “The sunny side of the street”.

I love Ella Fitzgerald’s version. The link below is worth the 12-second ad: Ella and Count Basie perform "On the Sunny Side of the Street"

The lyrics which remain in this southern Arizonan’s sun-baked skull half a century later go like this:

Grab your coat, and get your hat
Leave your worry on the doorstep
Just direct your feet
To the sunny side of the street

This time of year in Tucson we sing a much different tune.

Grab your sunscreen, your water and your hat
Leave your worry on the doorstep
Just direct your feet
To the shady side of the street

This is because we see the clues all around us that summer is here. Here are fifty:

You spontaneously went for a hike and spontaneously combusted.
Visitors are wondering where everyone is midday. Just before the heat incinerates their brains.
A friend will insist on mooning you to show off their scar from sitting on a seat buckle that was hotter than a glowing red hot branding iron.
Someone will quote Yosemite Sam at least once, telling everyone “My biscuits are burning!”
We are reminded the phrase triple digits does not refer to a genetic anomaly.
You forgot sunscreen. Today you’re the red lobster at Red Lobster.
You know you’ve been out in the heat too long when you start fretting over the fate of the endangered Santa Cruz Trout.
You have movies in your streaming que set in colder climes to help you chill out. Flicks like “Hellboy” and “Lawrence of Arabia”.
We find ourselves between people packing heat and people complaining about the heat.
It is the time of year when people who say “But it’s a dry heat” once too often can rouse a lynch mob.
Javelina are knocking over dumpsters to live in them.
Your guilt over owning a swimming pool evaporates.
The number one topic of conversation becomes how fast your laundry dries on the line.
You devise a shade rating system you call ”Fifty Shades of Grey”.
Like our northern friends who call the misery brought on by their indoor hibernation during their long winters “cabin fever” Arizonans are preparing for “casa fever” by drawing their blinds, putting in new cooler pads and stocking up on Eegee’s coupons.
The Arizona Sonora Desert Museum announces their annual summer policy: No diving into the otter’s pool.
Anyone singing “Sunshine on my shoulder makes me happy” can be declared incompetent and committed.
More folks are washing their cars naked at night.
Tucsonans are eyeing Kangaroo Rat burrows as possible affordable summer getaways.
June bugs the size of Volkswagen bugs will be swarming your house and clinging to your screen doors like flying zombies out of a Stephen King movie and for assistance many will call the “Men in Black”.
You’re wondering if you could live inside your swamp box cooler without reeking of wet aspen.
When you hear “Hot fun, summer in the city” on your radio you immediately turn it off and curse The Lovin’ Spoonful as musicians who have no clue what summer in this city is like.
You schedule activities for the time of day when only nocturnal rodents, insomniacs and vampires are active.
Windsor knot ties give way to bola ties and commuting office workers become advocates for workplace nudity.
You notice you sound like your mother when you say “stay hydrated.”
It’s the season when we drink a lot of water and wear sunscreen. Until mid-June. At which time we shift over to drinking a lot of sunscreen and wearing water.
More people are wearing popsicles in their pants than usual.
It’s so blazing hot drivers keep their accordion fold sunscreens open over their front windshields while they’re driving.
Your mantra becomes “October..October..October..”
You fondle your thermostat and profess your love for your air conditioner when you think no one is watching.
You’re wearing oven mitts in order to safely touch car door handles, steering wheels and certain salsas.
Retirees are going au naturel which means they’ve stopped wearing white athletic socks with their sandals.
You only leave things in your car you want to broil.
It’s T-Shirt-And-Shorts-Palooza Days!
We tell each other “Phoenix is hotter” at least three times a day and we’re grateful we’re here and not there in the Scorched Apple, even with our our eyebrows scorched off our blistered faces.
Drivers are reminding themselves going full-on “Mad Max” with a blue hair over a shady parking space isn’t worth the murder rap.
Two words: Mount and Lemmon.
You catch yourself thinking “living inside that shopping mall wouldn’t be that bad.”
You’ve seen napping customers rousted out of the frozen food freezers at Food City more than once. And yes, a bag of frozen peas does make a lovely pillow.
When the sun sets behind the mountains you can actually hear the desert sigh.
You are heading for a movie because you haven’t been inside a cool dark movie theater since last June. Editor’s note: From June through September indoor tent camping is prohibited by most theaters.
Drivers begin to avoid potholes that have vultures circling overhead.
Residents of Tucson stop saying, “It’s hot as Hell!” because it’s actually hotter than Hell.
We find ourselves muttering that living with torrential floods, hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, landslides, tsunamis, and monster wildfires is worse than living here as our vehicles sink into the hot melting asphalt like mammoths at the La Brea Tar Pits.
Your “Morning Walks” now begin at 3 A.M.
You’ve given up your groovy pad to live at a splash pad.
You are on “Breeze Alert”. You let everyone know when you feel one.
Lizards can be seen tiptoeing across the hot sand.
Your local TV weather personality is replaced with a mannikin with a looping soundtrack voice over that repeats the phrase “Continued sunny and clear with record breaking hot temperatures in the forecast.”
You tell friends and relatives living up north “Some like it hot” is one of your favorite Hollywood classics and your credo.
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