Last week was a killer, temperature-wise, for most of us. Now that it's in the 80s again, I thought I'd share my tips on moving beyond the summer sizzle.
The historic "Heat Dome" parked its carcass over much of the US on Thursday. DC and environs, fortunately, didn't suffer as much as those of you in the Upper Midwest. Maybe it's because we're used to 90-degree+ days, but Thursday's 98 was OK by me, especially since the Weather Dudes had been predicting 100+.
So on Thursday, I met a former student for coffee. Ate pizza. Had a bowl of soup. All those warm weather-type activities.
Friday, though, brought the real heat gremlins our way, in a big way. Suburban DC felt like all that hot air they're churning up there on Capitol Hill had blown over across the Potomac. We clocked in at 102. And that's before the alleged "heat index," or "feels-like factor," or whatever the TV Bobbleheads call it, was figured into the equation.
But hey, I'm from Texas. I don't believe in a "feels-like factor," although the English teacher in me will give the Weather Dudes points for alliteration.
So on Friday, with the Wrath of Hades Incarnate hovering right over my front stoop, I got up early. Turned on the sprinkler. Did some weeding. Took a shower, then a nap.
Saturday was a different story. With 100+ temps threatening us again, I felt like I should do my part and stay inside for the day. So I cleaned out my desk. Tidied Ella Numera Una's room. Mucked out the pigsty known as Ella Numera Dos' personal space.
Yes, when they're "all grown up," they still expect Mommy to pick up after them. Well, I'm here to tell you if I open one more closet and find the detritus of a summer on one more cob-webby floor, I'm getting me some gigendous garbage bags ~ you know, those of the big, black variety ~ stuffing them full of my daughters' crapola, and heading on down for that tax deduction at the Salvation Army.
Hot tip for those professional Congressional hand-wringers: I think the way our nation should take care of the impending debt crisis is to clean out our kids' rooms. Several hundred million tons of American Eagle, Target and Forever 21 would go a long way toward setting things straight.
But there is some good news in this tale. The weekend ended sweetly. I baked brownies. Betty Crocker Fudge Brownies, to be precise.
A little sugar and a lot of chocolate might help cooler heads prevail. I know. I've tried it.