I've long had a disdain for air conditioning. I'm sure it started when I was a teen and my parents splurged on central air for our house. The vent in my room was right by my bed and I woke up most mornings with a sore throat. I thought my parents kept it too cold and would complain bittery all summer. At night, I usually locked my door and threw open my windows to let the warm summer air drift in (Oh..how my Dad would kill me if he knew I did that -- letting his hard-earned cooling dollars go flying out the window).

I don't ever use the A.C. in my car and when we gutted and renovated our house, we never bothered installing a central air. My husband -- the wishful thinker -- has the house all ready for central air (pipes...or whatever it requires), we just never bought a unit (much like he installed cable wires throughout the house -- as if I might give in and order cable).

I've just never seen much need for A.C. -- our house is kept cool by nature's air conditioners -- lots of big old, leafy trees. And, if we do get too hot, relief (our pool) is just 10 feet from the back door.

But, alas, today I am wishing I had A.C. because I now have to go downstairs and can salsa for a story in the upcoming edition of Her Times Magazine. Simmering vats of salsa and stockpots full of boiling water are in my future on this 90-some degree day. Ugh. I'm sweating just thinking about it.

Do you see what lengths I go to for you my dear readers?

Canning on a 90-degree day.

I'm seriously considering packing up my gear and taking everything over to the artic zone and heating up my parents' igloo.

Or jumping in the pool and canning the story altogether.