I approach Memorial Day ambiguously. It’s not that I don’t want to honor the men and women who have given their lives to defend our country. Any American would surely want to do that.

It’s what comes after Memorial Day that gives me the jitters: summer.

When I was growing up in Kentucky, Memorial Day was an unadulterated joy for me (our fallen soldiers notwithstanding). Most of the kids I knew felt that way. School was out, and the three months ‘til it reconvened seemed almost like forever. Baseball was in. Could there possibly be a better deal than to swap sitting in a classroom every day for playing baseball every day?

But sliding head-first into second base is no longer the thrill it once was. In fact, I’d rather undergo surgery. At least they anesthetize you with surgery.

And I live in south Alabama. I like south Alabama. Pam and I chose to live here and do not regret the choice. Except in summertime.

When my friends from up north ask me how I like the climate here, I tell them we have nearly nine months of delightful weather, ranging from balmy to comfortably cool. In exchange for that, we endure just over three months in a humidifier. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. For 14 weeks in a row, uninterrupted by even a hint of a cool breeze. “But that’s a small price to pay for nine months of good weather!” I say.

And I mean it. Except when Memorial Day approaches, and then I go into a funk. I look for a preaching engagement in Bangor or Duluth. I think of my friends in Wisconsin and speculate on how they’d feel about a houseguest. I check plane fares to Chicago and Providence, where my children and grandchildren live. I visualize my brother-in-law in Michigan and wonder whether he’d share his three-room condo with Pam and me for a while.

Pam and I usually manage to vacate Alabama for part of the summer, but we spend most of it right here. And I’ve learned a few things about getting through an Alabama summer. Here are my tips:

Walk slowly. Pam says this is contrary to common sense. When she’s between her car and the supermarket, her inclination is to rush through the humidifier so as to get out of it as soon as possible. Pam sprints from one air-conditioned confine to another. She arrives exhausted and hot. But I mosey through the humidifier, moving as few body parts as I can, and those few in slow motion. I arrive rested and comfortably warm.

Go to the library. The place is air-conditioned, and you can find a book or video on life in Reykjavik, Murmansk or Nome. In your mind, you’ll be there!

Shower often. Apart from a cold beer (and I don’t drink, so a beer doesn’t help me), the best thing when you’re hot and sweaty is a cool shower. Never mind that you may be hot and sweaty again within half an hour. Standing beneath a cool shower on a hot summer day is one of life’s delectable pleasures.

Avoid Gulf Shores. I’m sure the Gulf Shores Chamber of Commerce will be on my case about this, but honestly, when you live where you can go to the beach any time of year, why go when half the Midwest is there clogging the roads, restaurants, and beaches? Wait till October when the weather is better and you can have the beach to yourself and your choice of tables in your favorite restaurant.

Eat light. The fact that fresh, locally grown fruits and vegetables are only available in the summer isn’t the only reason to eat them then. Hot, steamy weather isn’t the only cause of sluggishness — heavy meals cause it, too. If you add beef and potatoes and a slice of cheesecake to Alabama’s summer weather, you double your discomfort. The same can be said of fried seafood platters, but I love those, so I eat them year-round, despite that listless, bloated feeling I know will come an hour later.

If all else fails, buy a plane ticket to Toronto.

Richard H. Schmidt is a retired Episcopal priest, editor and author who lives in Fairhope. He can be reached at courier@gulfcoastnewspapers.com.