I know it’s hot all over. I just don’t like being hot. When I was young and skinny, I could stand dry heat, but even then humid heat drooped me beyond bearing. Back then, when I went to the gym (there’s a thought – when I was thin, I went to the gym, now that I’m not….), I would spend a few minutes in the dry heat sauna, but not that steamy thing. Yoiks. I remember a college professor telling me about his boyhood friend who had a sauna in his backyard. He went in with him and was gasping for breath before long. His friend told him the temp was getting too low and to pour some water on the rocks. He didn’t notice his friend running out of the wooden enclosure until after he nearly killed himself with the sudden blast of steam.
Arizona heat I could take. Mississippi heat — not so much. And now, here in Texas? It seems to be a cruel mixture of both. It’s not as humid as the Gulf coast, of course, but not as dry as the western states just above us. Add to all that the inner oven I seem to be carrying around and rest assured you’ll find me on the couch under a fan, AC on, as few clothes as decency will allow.
I was sitting on said couch just yesterday, laptop on a table in front of me, one leg stretched up on the couch. Soon a dog or two wandered in and laid at – and on – my foot. Too warm, but rather nice, so it’s okay. Then the little one came in and crawled up for some movie time. She pulled a pillow up and propped it on my hip, lay down on the pillow, her arm over my leg, but not before reaching up and pulling my arm down to her. My arm ended up pressed between her little body and the back cushion. On a normal day, she’s a walking furnace. And she had just been outside.
As I sat there snuggled with love from all sides, I did a mental camera click. And, for the first time ever, I was thankful for the heat.