Some like it hot

I never appreciated the common metaphorical reference to a beautiful young woman as "hot".  She may be outrageous.  She may be flirtatious.  She may be very attractive.  But "hot" is not my choice of epithet with which to label feminine eye candy.  I'd rather use "cool" or "sweet".

And when it comes to climate, I also shun the hot.  I guess that's why we ended up back here in Southern California.

My daughter and her husband, however, like it hot.  It was a carefully planned move that took them to Havasu City, Arizona.  Why someone would deliberately choose to live there is beyond my comprehension.

"But it's a dry heat." Jim keeps telling me.  And my response is always: "Yeah, and so is my oven."

Barbara warned them that we would not be visiting any time during the blast-furnace summer.  But love for great grandchildren (who have subsequently moved there with their mother) has compelled us to relent.

"We'll come if you turn down the thermostat below 80 degrees, but we can't stay more than a few days."  Barbara finally agreed.

Isn't it amazing how such little people can mean so very much to one's life?  We need to get a hug from these tiny humans every now and again.  So we packed and drove 300 miles just to see them (yes, and their mom and grand parents too).  Let's see now, where is my bathing suit.  I know we will spend some time in their swimming pool.  I'd better take two swim suits.

It is very difficult for me to admit this, but the dry heat is quite a bit easier to bear than 90 degrees with humid air around here.  I hope we didn't break the bank on their electric bill, but the AC made it just possible for us to enjoy our stay.  And the pool was not a disappointment.  After dinner the second night, we ventured into the pool after dark.  The thermometer read 100 degrees.  The water (still warm from the sun) felt so good that we stayed and chatted for an hour or so.  But the strangest sensation occurred when I stepped out of the pool.  I actually got chilled in the 100 degree air when I climbed out of the pool.  It was uncanny.  I thought I was going to be sick or some of my organs would shut down.  I mean it was eerie.  I toweled off and headed straight for the bedroom where I climbed under the covers and laid still until my aged body adjusted.  There is something spooky about hot places.

Forty years ago, when we moved to Modesto, I asked the daughter of the former pastor what the city was like.  She gave me a one syllable answer: "Hot!"  She was so right.  Every year there seemed to be at least one week in which the temperature topped the century mark every day.  I don't care where you live, I call that hot.  In Havasu, however, it's hot like that for the entire summer.

Trying to be friendly in my new city, I struck up a conversation with the lady who lived next door to the church.  She was complaining about how humid it was.  My image was more like a dry dusty desert.  I asked where she lived before coming to Modesto, and she said, "Mojave".  Okay, now she made sense.  Irrigation canals laced the region around Modesto, and she felt it in the air.  Being new to the area, I just thought it was hot.  That was just one lesson among many that things are perceived differently by different people, depending on their life experience.