Humid ain't the word

While many areas of the contiguous U.S. have have a visit from me over the years, the mystery of climates and microclimates never ceases to amaze me.

During a particularly long time in the Rockies, I remember the snowfall accumulation being so deep that my sports car disappeared overnight. Of course, we dug it out . . . eventually. There were other things to do that were infinitely more entertaining than digging out a car.

One trip through the Louisiana bayou country, we stopped to camp at a promising location that boasted a lake that was a fisherman's paradise according to the sign. We later learned that WE were the fish to some mosquitos who were large enough to carry away small children and drive their own Buick.

I came to realize that location was the secret testing ground for bug sprays and repellants of every stripe and that we had become welcome victims who brought fresh blood to the mix.

Other places have been so very dry and forbidding in the desert places of the Southwest that you can feel the water being siphoned out of your body as surely as a vacuum cleaner sucking up lint from the sofa cushions.

Tonight was an exercise in how to take a complete bath while wearing all of your clothes and walking the dog. I speak not in a metaphor, but in actual truth. With temperatures hovering in the mid 90's and the humidity being equal to the temperature, the 'feels like' measurement they offered at lunch is no indication of the sauna like environment I stepped out into this evening.

The dog KNOWS when it is time for our nightly session of PT.

For those of you who are not in the know, PT stands for a multitude of things that can be a blessing or a curse, depending upon circumstances.

PT - physical therapy, because everyone needs some movement in their joints.

PT - physical torture, because there are days and then there are days. If you are a bit out of shape (or a lot out of shape), then this is an apt description indeed.

PT - practically trotting, because to a dog who feels like you aren't moving at sufficient speed, it becomes a game of who can set the pace and who becomes the victim.

PT - painfully tender, because when you are finally able to see the promised land of home in your view, you realize that phantom pain that was just niggling along at the back of your conscience has metamorphosed into a full blown suffering, complete with huffing and puffing toward the pain killers.

PT - pretty tennies, because I just bought a new pair and hit the road with them tonight. They are so light, it's like not really having on much shoe at all.

But I digress.

On days like this when cheerful weathermen and women bask in the glow of their meteorological skill while in a climate controlled studio, I want to remind them that it isn't so much the heat that the average Southerner is interested in at all.

It's the humidity that pulls the curl out of your up-do and the liquid feel to the air when rain is only a tease in the forecast. It's the water vapor that par-boils you as you try to accomplish anything without retreating for a shady spot and a cold glass of lemonade.

On days that defy natural science to explain why the humidity is so high that you are literally soaked just by virtue of going outside the four walls of the home, I remind everyone that the time worn statement about living amongst the magnolias and mint juleps is oh so true.

It ain't the heat that gets you in Dixie, it's the humidity.

I think I'll take a cool shower and make some lemon ice pops.