What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance.
By the time August rolls around in Texas, survival is the name of the game. Sweat on my brow and under my pits in spite of my deodorant are simply facts of life. Now that I'm in hot flash hell, I've significantly added to the number of times I soak myself during the day. But no matter, this too shall pass. Right?
There was a time in my life when sweat wasn't the norm. In my days of living in the North, East and West, I believed sweating occurred when my face turned beet red and I thought it might blow up. I had no clue that little beads of perspiration could turn into flowing rapids down my back or that wiping my eyes with the back of an equally moistened hand to clear the flood from my brow might become a rote act. I prided myself on perspiration etiquette.
I recall an afternoon, soon after moving to Texas. While digging holes to plant my newly purchased shrubs, my face began its usual red blowup, then something popped. The sweat paraded down my back, legs and face. I joined the ranks of the dripping sweat mongers.
Of course, my ability to sweat like a pig allows me to cop an elitist attitude with my mom and two of my three brothers - who still believe if you crack a sweat it means you're overheating and need to sit down. I'm so glad I've evolved.
As we embark on our 40th or 50th or 500th day in a row of 100+ degree heat, and my 22nd summer in Texas, no longer do I have to dig shrub holes to work up a sweat. In a few minutes, I'll leave the confines of my home to walk to the mailbox. Perhaps I'll stop to grant the pathetic looking plants in my front garden a few sprinkles of precious water - just a sip, however. A long swallow would only soften their reserve and restrain them from their ability to survive in the sweltering sun. The tomatoes in pots, I'll bypass. They have led the battle well, but lost.
When I finish, my bra will be sweat laden so I'll run the warm ground water from the hose on my feet and return to the let the air conditioning cool me, before I venture out for the next sweat trip.
Oh wait, I'm getting one just sitting here. Ain't midlife great?
But I must admit, come August, the heat tends to twist me. Puts me in rather a funk, I'd say. Makes me think of sledding down hills while my snot freezes in my nose. Makes me eager for motion beyond the elliptical at the Y. Perhaps the reverse of cabin fever in the dead winters of the north only similar in that I want to do something fun, something wild. Something with rapid, wake-me-up movement. I am bored with the boundaries of the heat. Stir crazy, as they say.
Tomorrow's my birthday. I want to ride on roller coasters. The kind that end up in a swimming pool. I hear Schlitterbahn calling. Just what every tomorrow-to-be-53 year old body needs. Falling down a slide and hitting the water at full force. Something exhilarating to get the heart pumping again. That'll work.
Don't forget to look for the Perseid meteor shower tonight. 2am is the best viewing. Lie spread eagle on your front lawn.