Currently the only pair of swim trunks I own are short by anyone’s standards. They hit me about mid-thigh, higher if I’m sitting down. They’re orange and white, and I personally think they’re rather “gay.” (Since I’m gay too, it’s not a problem.) That being said, the more tacos and beer I eat and drink, the more I think, These shorts COULD use some more fabric. Anyway, I wore the trunks last night while swimming with my nephews and brother-in-law, and my younger nephew, who’s four, said, “Tio [Tio is Spanish for uncle], someone cut off the bottom of your shorts!”

So there I was, eighty-five percent skin (eighty-five percent beer and tacos), and my brother-in-law, who’s one-hundred percent Mexican, said, “You’re WHITE. You need to get some sun.”

This is how I was welcomed to Albuquerque.

Y’all, it’s a 100 degrees here–we’re in the desert for crying out loud–but it’s 65 in my sister’s house. (I think she’s doing this to appease my warm-natured father, but still, I’m freezing.) Last night when I went to bed, I shut both the vents in my room, turned off the fan, added two blankets to the bed, AND put a sock cap on my head. It’s the middle of July. All this to say that after breakfast this morning, I needed to defrost, so I curled up on the couch on the back patio with a blanket over my legs and a book (called The Hero Journey in Dreams) in my arms.

The blanket had ants in it, but it WAS warmer.

After a while, my aunt came outside to work in my sister’s garden and said, “Marc, I figured you’d be in the pool.”

Well, I thought this was a good idea, so I changed into last night’s shorty-short swim trunks, grabbed a towel, and headed for the water. And whereas the water felt great, I spent most my time in a recliner soaking up the sun (because I’m WHITE) and continuing to read for what I thought was about an hour. (I didn’t take my phone with me.) It really was the perfect morning/early afternoon–breakfast with coffee, reading by the pool, the warm sun. Glorious!

Except for the fact that I burned myself.

Y’all, by the time I came inside, I was already pink, mostly on my taco-tummy. Having toasted my back a few weeks ago, I thought, Shit, I‘ve done it again. But what do you do? Personally, I came inside and asked my sister for help. She’s apparently become one of those essential-oil people and told me last night that some of her oil magic (my words, not hers) had kept her from peeling when she got a sunburn not long ago. Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was rubbing a concoction of coconut oil and lavender (and eye of newt) all over my chest, and my sister was rubbing the same stuff all over my back.

“Let’s hope this works,” I said.

Afterwards, I left the house to go used-book shopping. Y’all, I LOVE to book shop and especially love to used-book shop. I could EASILY spend all my money on books and pretty much do. But I’m really proud of myself–I went to two large stores and perused for three hours and only bought two books–one on the history of Easter and one on hypnosis. $24.05 total. Not bad, all things considered.

Just before I left the last bookstore (in the middle of an empty aisle), I lifted my t-shirt and looked at my belly, which was BRIGHT red. Oh no! I thought, I’ve really done it. Back to the house, I looked in the mirror. Y’all, I was (and am) the color of a red, ripe tomato. My brother-in-law said, “How long were you out there?” I said, “Just an hour, but maybe longer.” My sister said, “Either way, you ARE at a higher altitude–an entire mile closer to the sun. Plus, it’s dry out here, and it sucks the moisture out of your body, so you fry faster.”

Now they tell me.

So basically I spent the afternoon in God’s convection oven, and now I look like a lobster. It’s not cute. Seriously, there’s a wide red stripe down my front and another down my back, and both my sides are white. I feel like a candy cane without the swirl. And I’m pooped. Earlier Mom helped me reapply the coconut/lavender witch’s brew, and I’m about to do it again and go to bed. I’m making jokes about the oils, but I will say that when I checked my skin about an hour ago, it was definitely less “angry.”

SO WE’LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS.

Currently my stomach is burning up, but I’m here in my sister’s giant meat locker–er, living room–freezing my ass off, despite the blanket over my legs and sock cap on my head. Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor. The mystics say this is the world of duality (which is sometimes represented in mythology by the number two). You spend a glorious afternoon in the sun, you get a not-so-glorious evening to follow. Here, every up has a down, every good has a bad, and every hot has a cold; and you can run yourself ragged going back-and-forth between them, thinking, I want THIS and not THAT. But there is another way, say the mystics–the middle path, or acceptance of whatever comes your way. This is the Garden of Eden between the two cherubim, Christ between the two thieves.