Thursday, July 15, 2010

It's Hot, Hot, Hot!

Can you look back to the past
and remember what you were doing
on the hottest and the coldest days of the year?

Although I am not a meteorologist-
or an historian,
I remember those days very well.


Because those are the days that
my loving husband decided to tackle
extensive outdoor chores.

Now, I'm not talking about
watering the garden
or shoveling snow from the sidewalk.
I'm talking hours of intense labor
while battling the elements.

Take yesterday, for example.

I was minding my own business.
Trying to blog...
having a cup of coffee...
sitting in the cool house in my pj's...
comfy in my favorite chair...

"Get dressed," my husband said,
sitting down to tie his shoes.

Now, most women would see this as
an invitation to breakfast at Cracker Barrel,
a trip to local yard sales,
a sweet little road trip,
or the opportunity for an early matinee.

But, being married to this man
for coming up on 35 years,
I knew better than to be excited
or surprised.

"What?" I asked, curling my face
into an unattractive snarl.

"We are cleaning the garage today," he said.

"Ugh..the big garage? The barn?" I questioned.

This old garage/barn is big enough
to house a herd of horses,
a combine,
and a fleet of four wheelers.
(Well, almost.)
But what do we have in it?

And I wilted at the thought
of fighting my way through
shovels and screwdrivers
and lawnmowers and electrical cords
and pipes and posts and boards
and wasps and webs and
things that never, ever get thrown away
because someday he might use them.

Besides that,
the heat index was going to be 105.

Do the math, ladies.
If it feels like 105 degrees outside
and you happen to have a hot flash-
you're looking an approximate
body temperature of at least 145.

A person could melt.

But not a man.
Not my husband,
Not a super macho
I-can-never-sit-down-and-relax kind of guy.

So, began my Wednesday.
Armed with gloves and attitude,
I helped my husband
on the hottest day
of the freakin' year.

"It's hot," I complained.

"Oh, just think of it as an opportunity
to work on your tan," said Superman.

Call me strange.
But I tend not to think of
the bronze glow of my skin
when I'm
dying of heat stroke!!!

Yeah ,I'm just funny like that.


Eight hours,
two bug bites,
one broken nail,
and sixteen bottles of water later-
we were finished!

I admit, it did look good.
Kinda made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

No- wait.
False alarm.
It was just another hot flash.

My feet were throbbing,
my back was aching,
and I was as sweaty as a drowned rat-
(and just about as pretty).

It made me think about the winter
that we were building our house.
Tyvek insulation sheets
had to be stapled up before
the siding went on.

Coldest day of the year.
Below zero.
Here we are all bundled up
in the blizzard-like wind.
I have on two pair of socks
and two pair of gloves.
I look like a Weeble.
I feel like a pig-mummy.
I am so cold, I actually start crying.

I am a Popsicle.

I suppose I'm used to it by now-
those working conditions
fit for neither man nor beast.

Yesterday evening after my shower,
and sweet air conditioning ,
I plopped into my favorite chair
and reflected on the day.

I figure I might have a good six months
before the coldest day of the year.

Wonder what I'll be doing that day?