...and I'm skeered. The past couple of days have been almost jaw-droppingly beautiful. T-shirts and jeans. Blue skies, with nary a cloud in sight. Nice breeze. Sounds wonderful and really is, I suppose.
But somewhere close is a slight rumble; the rumble of heat arriving. Deep South, sticky, wet heat. Not looking forward to that part of the season at all.
My dad's job brought us to Georgia in 1977. July 3rd to be exact. When we arrived it was raining, and continued to do so all day. It was the next day that we arrived at our new home. We weren't moving in right away because the moving van was going to take a few days to get from Buffalo, NY to Marietta, GA. But the woman my father was married to [a.k.a. psycho-bitch] wanted to clean the place to her satisfaction; despite the fact it was a new home and the builder already had a cleaning crew in it.
While she was maniacally cleaning, she wanted all of us out of her way. We couldn't actually go anywhere, we just needed sit around and not touch anything. And no, we couldn't help because we never could do it right. Pick any verb to substitute for "it", didn't matter. We were a bunch of sloppy retards I guess.
So remember, the majority of our stuff is still on a truck. Including furniture. Forty-eight hours prior we had been in New York where temperatures rarely saw 85 and our summer clothes, even at their lightest weight, were all way more than what the South requires. Oh, and for reasons I don't remember now, we could not turn on the a/c. All the windows were open, but unfortunately [and what 33 years here have taught me] there is very rarely a breeze in July. And it's humid. With lots of tiny flying things that like to bite. I spent quite a lot of time then in the middle of the family room floor in a spread-eagle position under the ceiling fan, sweating and panting and bitching. And I didn't even have MS yet!
Not really sure where I'm going with this. I was just going to mention how great the weather is today and how I'm not looking forward to late Spring and I just vomited up a memory from 1977.
Wait. Isn't it a sign of senility when one can remember the long past but not remember a phone call from last week? Oh, dear...