We’ve been experiencing unseasonably warm temperatures here in Rochester, and while you folks in the Southwestern USA might scoff and welcome such temperatures as a welcome break from even warmer days, 90° is just too hot for this transplanted Alaskan. Even though it’s been almost 30 years, my blood still hasn’t thinned enough to handle the heat.
Which is why I haven’t been writing lately: who wants to even boil a pot of water, much less drink it, in this heat?
Not that I’ve completely stopped drinking tea; on the contrary, I’m going through record amounts of iced tea-flavored juice mixes.
But when I woke up this morning and came downstairs to discover that the temperature was still under 80°, I knew it was my chance! 10 minutes later and I was enjoying a nice cup of hot Earl Grey. Of course I had to make a second cup.
Sadly, by the time it was done, it was already 84°, which made it too hot to drink hot tea. But no worries: it’s sitting in the fridge awaiting until the next time I want a cup of iced tea. And with the temperature expected to once again reach into the 90s, that won’t be too awfully long a wait.
What About You?
Do you have any special ways of coping with the heat? There was a time in my life when I did live in a warmer part of the country. San Antonio, Texas, to be exact. And while I didn’t much like living in Texas, San Antonio still remains one of my top choices of cities I wouldn’t mind living in.
I discovered that some of the houses—the ones that had been there since the city’s earliest days—all had flat roofs, with exterior walls that reached some three feet or so above the roofline. I learned that they were designed this way so that whenever it rained, the rainwater would be trapped and collected on the roof. Later, as the temperature rose, the water would slowly evaporate, sucking heat from the houses and making them bearable. In essence, the entire house became a swamp cooler.
How Hot is Hot? Perspectives on Heat
When my father lived in south Texas (McAllen is just a couple of miles from the US-Mexico border), he told me the story of when he had visited one of his parishioners in her nursing home. She explained to him that she preferred living there because she couldn’t stand any of her relatives.
It was her 100th birthday. She had been born and raised in McAllen, and never ventured more than 20 miles from that city.
You have to understand McAllen’s climate to truly appreciate what I’m going to tell you. My father would leave his air-conditioned house in the morning, drive his air-conditioned car to his air-conditioned office…and then come home at lunch to change his shirt. The heat and humidity were that bad a combination.
Anyway, he and his parishioner—let’s call her Mrs. Johnson—were discussing what it had been like growing up and living in McAllen for so many years. My father told me that when he asked her, “Mrs. Johnson, how did you manage to live with such heat and humidity before you had air conditioning?”
To which that wise old woman replied, “Why Pastor, before we had air conditioning, we didn’t know we was hot!”
And that, dear reader, is perspective.
Until next time!