We are on day 130 of 15 days to slow the spread.
Shore is hot out thar.
Shore is.
Yep.
And, scene.
I sort of lost track of how many days we’ve been in this recent heat wave.
Last night we finally got a little relief when some storms blew through. We got a little rain, not nearly enough.
In our house it’s a guessing game as to where the dogs will end up when the thunder hits. Generally, there’s one under my wife’s desk and one under mine. But last night, they couldn’t seem to settle.
The larger, and younger, dog, generally ends up in a corner under my desk in a space not designed for her to
fit. She was there last night for a while. Then she left and went to one son’s room. She ended up in the bathroom, then the other bathroom.
It was like she didn’t feel safe anywhere.
As a moderately conservative, old, white, Christian male who drives a pickup truck, I know how she feels.
Too soon?
Over the weekend when we hit triple digits for the first time, I posted a picture on social media and made the comment that I still prefer summer over winter. Always have.
That post was not met with universal approval.
I mean, what’s not to love about summer when it means hanging out at the pool, going to the amusement park or the water park, backyard cookouts with family and friends?
Never mind.
I don’t remember summers being this hot when I was growing up. Granted, I grew up in the mountains, but we didn’t have air conditioning in the house. We had window screens and fans.
I do remember visiting family in Richmond and North Carolina in the summer. I wondered why they ever left the magical world of their air-conditioned homes.
Between my sophomore and junior year of college, I traveled with a ministry team. This was the 70s, and not only did we represent a conservative Christian college, we were singing in conservative camp meetings all across the south.
We’d sing for the morning preaching, the afternoon preaching, and the evening preaching.
And we performed every time in three-piece, probably polyester, suits.
I’ve considered writing a book about that summer, the working title is “Sweltered Safe Within the Arms of God.”
After graduation I spent a summer as a short-term missionary in Arizona and New Mexico. There I learned to sand drywall.
Thankfully, I no longer own a three-piece suit. And, if there’s drywall to be sanded, we’re more likely to hire a professional.
So, especially since I’m not likely to be involved in those activities, I still prefer the summer.
For that matter, the south. I’d move further south if we could.
I mean, I know I play the big man in the red suit, but I’d be content if the only snow I saw was on greeting cards and stage backdrops.
Where was I going with the post?
Oh, that’s right. Nowhere. None of us is going anywhere.
But, that’s okay.
It shore is hot out there.
Shore is.