The Heat is On

They put the high for today at 100 degrees.  In reality, it's only about 95, although my own personal heat index puts it at about 110 in the sun.

Mostly, my response to the heat has been to move slowly, be tired, act crabby, and not feel like doing much of anything. 

But, just like I'm trying to adapt to the South by using all of my will power to not scratch my mosquito bites (yes, I'm also using many and frequent applications of Off and After Bite), I'm finding ways to cope with the heat.  And I really do mean cope, as we have yet to turn on our central A/C.

A few of my strategies:

The fan outdoors?  Who knew that that's the real reason why extension cords were invented.

If you get the sugar free kind, you have less guilt about eating six popsicles in a row.

Perhaps the best non-alcoholic summer beverage: DIY Gatorade in the packets.  You are in total control of your sugary, sodium-filled Gatorade intake.

Of course, there's the learning-the-hard-way what is not such a good idea to do on a 95-degree day:

Repotting your hanging and potted porch plants would fall in this category.

And if you're Fonzie, your strategy for coping with the heat:

Play often and carry a big stick.

One in the column for North Carolina

I miss water.  I miss seeing it, biking to it, walking next to it, driving by it, and, when I'm lucky, swimming in it.  I miss pretty much everything about living near Lake Michigan, especially because I have swapped it out for fairly landlocked central North Carolina.  Sure, there's the Eno River and alleged swimming holes to be explored.  But, that's not the beach, and I love beach.

Finally, after nine months of complaining about wanting to go to the coast of North Carolina, Willie and I hopped in the car yesterday and headed east.  Two and a half hours later, we arrived in Wrightsville, a town on the beach right next to Wilmington.

It was a cloudy day -- 30% chance of rain -- and even a little chilly with the wind.  We found a spot on the beach away from the not-too-big-crowd, settled in with our chairs and cooler and magazines...and chilled.

Willie got me to go in the water, which was a good thing, because it was just about the best time ever.  Big waves, a strong undertow, salty water...I was not in Kansas anymore.  

Before leaving Wrightsville, we saw three wedding parties (two ceremonies on the beach), heard lots of thick southern accents, and ate some fresh fish.  

The day pretty much ruled.  

So, now I've changed my geographical classification to living not-too-far-ish from the water. 

And even though I was reminded about what part of the country we live in when we pulled up to a Shell station on the way home,

if the divine refers to the beach, holy moly, count me blessed.