It's the end of the world. Totally early, if you believe the Mayan calendar interpretation. (By the way, it's been shown that the Mayans were talking politics and the end of a political reign, not Armageddon.) Four (or is it five?) straight days over 100 degrees, and averaging 102 for good measure, have been brutal on humans and plants alike. The tomatoes are gone. The dogwoods are drooping. I'm not sure the pine trees will make it, their roots are so shallow. The rains we're expecting next week are coming none too soon.
This weather makes me dream of floating in cool water hour after hour. Or sitting beside an English river, under the willows. Having been in Sweden in the summer when it was 90 degrees, I think that one's off my wish list. Watching movies with snow and ice (The Thing, anyone?) helps a bit.
We decided to stay away from the Daytona race because we just couldn't bear the thought of sitting in the stands in the heat and humidity. The Nationwide race on TV was killer- good for Kurt Busch, driving that beat-up car to a win through the wreck-fest that's called a Daytona race. The Cup race Saturday, not so interesting.
If it sounds as if I've been griping about the the weather and trying to pretend I can get cool by thinking cool thoughts, that about sums up my activities since the Fourth.