Or as we call it around these parts of the soybean field, “Monday.”
A very hot one at that with temps reaching well over 80 before 8 AM. Despite all good intentions to get in a 45 minute walk this morning, it grew too hot for both Oakley and me. We bailed at the 20 minute mark. We made one run outside for the most personal of personal reasons since then. He’s taken up camp in front of the fan used to augment the air conditioning and seems uninterested in moving again until dinner.
Hubby is building something in the garage. I have no idea what he’s working on, but as long as he’s happy, it’s all good.
I haven’t done very much today. I’ve played on line; read new-to-me books; watched a repeat of a Swedish spy thriller. The extreme heat precluded work on the garden. Again. It is what it is. The weather should break on Wednesday. Maybe then.
Both weekend days’ highs climbed well into the 90s, too. Last night, we decided to go to our favorite used book store (20% off everything+selling a bunch of books=a lot of fun for both of us), then out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants across the street in lieu of trying to cook out.
When we turned onto the north-south state route where said attractions lie, we noticed several police cars and IDOT trucks parked at intervals. A bad accident? A sinkhole? Road blocks to check for registration and seat belt usage (and a discreet check for alcohol use)? Nope. The pavement had buckled and shattered in several locations from the heat, necessitating navigation by the officers so all could drive around them in an orderly, safe manner. Tricky on a Sunday night, but had this happened on that stretch of road on a workday, traffic would have been backed up to Kentucky and Wisconsin.
To my best of my recollections, this kind of weather never happened when I was younger, much younger. There were warmer than average Memorial Day weekends, certainly, but with highs reaching into the low 80s, not pushing 100. Usually, we could go on a picnic with our grandparents and a couple of other stray relatives. Or have everyone over for a cook-out.
Memorial Day is a much quieter affair now. Distance, logistics, and so on have bumped it to the wayside, save for a picnic when the weather is half-decent. Personally, I don’t care driving on this day, or July 4, or Labor Day. Parades and observations of the two former with no good escape routes in our little town snarl traffic into dreadlocks. Labor Day just involves keeping a sharp eye out for cops who want to pad municipal coffers at the expense of careless drivers.
I just would rather stay home, thank you. We have left overs from last night for dinner; we have air conditioning; our basic needs are met. WFMT played selections from Gershwin, Porter, and Sousa. We don’t need to be anywhere, so we will simply celebrate the comfort of the day.