I have a very limited range of air temperature comfort. My body runs cold if the air is anything less than 68 or 70 degrees; my nose is cold, my feet and hands are cold, and I need the electric blanket to warm up the bed before I get in. I might just wear gloves and a winter hat when others around me are in shorts. I’m uncomfortably hot and slow to cool down if it’s close to 80. I knew a woman who grew up in Hawaii, then moved to the coast of southern California to attend grad school; she was cold all the time. If you’ve lived somewhere that spoils southern California’s magical weather, the number of places you can comfortably live would seem rather small.
If it’s humid, I’ll wilt when temperatures are in the mere 70’s. If it’s hot and humid, you’d best leave me alone, as I will not, no matter how hard I try, be able to breathe, let alone communicate anything other than overwhelming distress, disbelief, and the rare combination of pleading and complaining usually uttered by those under the age of 5. Plus, my hair will frizz. I have been told from women with hair that goes limp in the heat that their despair equals mine, but I’m not inclined on those days to grant anyone an inch of compassion in the midst of my own despair.
I am, as my husband will attest, a delicate flower. And of course, I’m not. I have lived in parts of the country that stay frozen for months at a time, and then, to reward the inhabitants for their dedication to place, serves up two months of hot, humid, buggy weather, punctuated by thunderstorms. I have survived a grey and dreary fall in London; endless smog alert days in Los Angeles; the heat and boredom of Iowa and Nebraska where you actually consider selling yourself to the Devil, if he’d ever have the nerve to leave Hell to make an appearance at the temporary hell-hole without air conditioning that you’re stuck in. I have been to state fairs when the only thing I can think of is, “How do the animals stand it?” Big brown bovine eyes blinking ever-so-slowly; tails switching at flies and gnats and other charming hot-weather insects who find solace on the sweaty hide of a burdened beast.
You can imagine how useful this is, projecting discomfort at every 4-H student livestock project. Don’t get me started on the dogs tied to the back of summer athletes’ bicycles (or around their waists on skateboards or roller blades); strong sweating individuals zooming at their top pace, pulling/yanking/dragging their tired and hot canines through the streets, impossibly long dog tongues nearly sweeping the pavement. I am a delicate flower who sees delicate flowers all around her. Not the other people who are suffering in the heat, no – but the animals. I know their pain.
Farmers in the Midwest are battling one of the longest, driest, hottest spells in a long time. They are losing their crops and their livelihoods are threatened. Many no longer have enough corn or grain to feed their livestock, so are selling them to those who can provide food and water (and, let’s hope, central air).
That shut me up. I have decided to sweat (or shiver) and be quiet about it. To be grateful that all I have to complain about is frizzy hair and higher produce prices. To be grateful that someone figured out how to run heat coils through a blanket. To be grateful that there are people out there – not just me – who, despite their own suffering, recognize that others are suffering too. Note to self: the ability to retain empathy during discomfort. Work on it.
A mild day at the Wild Horse Wind and Solar Farm
(Really? I have a picture of a cow to add? Yup.)