It is hotter than blazes out here—officially breaking 100ºF heat-index as I type. Now, that might not sound like much to you folks out there in places like California (where I used to live) or Arizona (where I grew up), but that’s a Southern hot, the kind Harper Lee describes in To Kill a Mockingbird:. . . a black dog suffered on a summer’s day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men’s stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o’clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.(Wow, that woman could write. That book (given to me by my sister-in-Jesus-and-soul and author-herself Susan) is one of my favorite (if not my absolute favorite) as far as novels go. I just saw the play at Alabama Shakespeare Festival, and I'm still ruminating over it so.)
Anyways, the only good thing about high heat and humidity is that we get these great puffy, dark-undersided clouds hovering over my front and back yards. The sky is chock full of ‘em. Now, if we’d only get those thunderstorms they’re promising us. But right now those Weather Channel green-orange radar splotches are non-existent. Pass the talcum, please.