The other day, I went to the bathroom. The weather was perfectly fine when I closed the door. At some point, the skies shook, the thunder bellowed angrily, and monolithic rain curtains lashed down on the roof of my house. By the time I finished in the bathroom, the skies had cleared, and, except for some wet patios, one would never know there had been a thunderstorm of Biblical proportions. This would suggest one of two possible explanations. Either there is something very wrong with my GI system or it is summer, and I live in Florida. Thankfully (I guess,) it is summer, and I live in Florida.
My least favorite season in Florida has arrived…. Summer- or, as I like to call it, Sweat Season. The heat, humidity, and heaviness of the atmosphere has reached the unbearable stage for me. The calendar tells me that summer is just barely a week old and I am over it already. At this time of year, the mere act of drawing breath feels like an elite athlete’s workout.
I might need to order Gatorade by the case if I decide to actually change my clothes. It is so muggy and viscous, clothes stick to my skin in a most unappealing way. Peeling off bike shorts feels like peeling off skin. It is disgusting to undress, but it is even more disgusting to remain in the same clothes for more than six hours. When we do our early morning yardwork on Saturday mornings, I make my own mud. My friend Kathleen argues that sweating is good for you. I do not know if that is true. Drowning in my own bodily fluids sounds like a definite health hazard to me… to say nothing of my mental health.
Another difficulty with the summer here is the sheer impossibility of planning anything. Every statement of intent is followed closely by the fearful phrase “weather permitting.” You see, during the summer, it can rain any and every day. It often does. People told us during our first summer that the key is not to pay too much attention to those 98% chance of rain predictions that span across the entirety of the weather.com 10-day forecasts. They tell you that it only rains for 10 or 15 minutes at 4:00pm. It’s easy, they tell newbies, to work around these little summer showers. Sometimes all that is true. Sometimes, Noah calls demanding his flood back. I have been caught driving when I have to pull over to the side of the road for half an hour, just waiting for the rain to decrease enough to allow me to see if I am indeed still on the road or if I veered off into a river. One time, as I made my way from the grocery store to the car, my shoes got so wet, they dyed my feet blue. I looked like a smurf from the ankles down for weeks.
Then there are the hurricanes. I always wanted to live at the beach, but we wisely decided to move to the exact middle of the state, 90 minutes from a beach in any direction because we were concerned that the cardboard box we would be living in after the first hurricane season would not survive a second. In the center of the state, we are honestly fairly safe- at least as far as Florida goes. In the ten summers we have been here, we have experienced three storms that caused some damage close to us. Three, of course, is plenty. We have been lucky that we have suffered only the most minor damage. The bigger issue is the hype that accompanies any hurricane that could potentially impact any area within the broadcast range of the local television stations. For days before and during, everyone from the Florida Keys to Jacksonville is treated to predictions of soggy Armageddon. While this is going on, I cling mightily to my logical brain which knows the odds that we will experience a hurricane disaster are slim. However, I am an extremely suggestible person and the panic that I push to the bottom of my gut never stays completely subdued in the face of constant warnings of catastrophe.
I honestly do not know what possessed anyone to settle Florida in the early days of New World exploration. A Spanish conquistador named Pedro Menedez de Aviles founded the city of St. Augustine, Florida in 1565, making it the oldest city in the United States. My question is why, in a world some 350 years before air conditioning, would Senor Menendez do Aviles have wanted to conquista it in the first place? There is only so much good a sea breeze can do.
You might wonder, with all this weather whining, why I live in Florida. Of course I researched weather patterns, and I even spent time in Florida during the summer. Of course, I knew that the summers are hot, muggy, and tempestuous. Knowing it and living it or not the same thing. Also, I love my life in Florida. I love my little house. I love my friends. I love the cost of living. I love my church. I love the scenery. I love the available activities. Summer sog is the cost of admission. That does not mean I have to like it.
I typically count summer in Florida as nineteen weeks- from the last week of May through the last week of September. Summer weather can and does extend beyond September, but even I cannot justify calling October “summer.” We are currently in week six. That leaves me with almost two-thirds of Sweat Season left to go for this year. Pray for me. And send popsicles!
How do you feel about summer? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.
Be cool!
Terri/Dorry 😊