My friend MariJo once said of me that I am the whitest white woman she knows.
What I know is that hot weather is really hard on me. When I was a much larger woman, I was sweaty and peaked during the hottest days of summer. About a decade ago, I lost a bunch of weight and was hopeful about two thing (aside from getting healthier, of course, which was my main goal)–I would have slimmer ankles and hot weather wouldn’t be such a debilitating factor in my life.
Alas, neither was true, as it turned out. I still have big thick ankles and summer is, in fact, even harder on me than it used to be.
I grew up in the mountains that were humid in the summer and rainy–a deciduous rain forest where we only watered the garden when we planted plants in it. That is no longer the story in Appalachian summers where we can expect the temperature to hover in the 90s in the dog days of August and the humidity doesn’t seem to be affected by the lack of daily afternoon rains.
Earlier this week, I got over-heated and it has affected me for days. Yesterday I started getting a lovely rash–whether it is hives from stress or a heat rash doesn’t matter as much as the livid stripes that decorate parts of my pasty anatomy.
I was all covered up for the Midsummer ritual today–dark glasses, sun hat, oversized white cotton shirt. But I still got puny by the time we were finishing up and I came home to take a nap. Yes, a nap. And it was grand.
As the year turns now to shorter days and longer nights, I find myself longing for cool days and cooler nights. And if I actually take the time to unpack my summer clothes, I may find that getting through the rest of summer is actually possible.
Sunscreen, hat, cover-ups–summer among the pasty Euro-tribes.
Maybe I should move to Seattle.