Flexible Fahrenheit...

The last couple of weeks have brought home to me once again the infinite flexibility of the human mind. It is an acrobat of amazing versatility, going in all directions as the whim takes it's owner. The mind can be forced to conform to almost any position, as long as we believe what we are telling ourselves.

You may think I'm referring to the self-induced debt crisis which has been so much in the news recently, created by our Congress in it's infinite ability to behave like a naughty juvenile. You would be wrong. I am tired of Congress, I am tired of politics, and I am especially tired of politicians, who seem to exist in some alternate universe where they are not held accountable for their misbehavior.

No. I am referring to the weather. The very hot, very dry weather that we have been experiencing here in flyover country. This great mid-section of America, where the Dust Bowl got its name, has had record breaking heat the last couple of weeks. The drought which has plagued parts of Texas and Oklahoma for several years has now gotten a foothold in more than a handful of states, and the situation is becoming dire as crop yields and animals are dropping like flies in a zapper.

But I would forgive you for not knowing, because the international news isn't exactly shouting about it. If it happened on the east coast, you can bet your nude stilettos that the whole world would know about it. But we are only Main Street USA, so we are not worth troubling about.

I mean, there are Royal Weddings and Almost Royal Weddings and Jennifer Aniston in Hawaii sightings and Casey Anthony sightings, and of course, the entire FAA fiasco, which, if I understand the news bites correctly, is everyone else's fault. Not to mention the whole S&P downgrade, which either matters a whole lot or not at all, depending on which faction finds a home in your head. That's a lot to keep us intellectually exercised, so it's easy to understand how a thing like 109 degrees in Kansas City could slip by a person. Unless you are actually here.

A friend kindly pointed out that a mere six months ago, it was 12 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit, for the internationally minded who might be confused,) and we had a blizzard. Even if I had been toying with a complaint about the heat, that reminder would surely have brought me up short. It is not possible to complain about heat when reminded that a foot of snow takes hours of shoveling in the cold.

I never complain about the heat, anyway, because I hate cold. Detest it. Despise it, even. I would move to the equator before I would willingly subject myself to another flake of snow, if only there were work down there.

But if I were the complaining type, 109 degrees would do it. Because 109 degrees is HOT. Really hot. So hot you can fry an egg on the dashboard, should you care to try. [Yes, someone actually did it, just to see, and it worked.]

Compared to a blizzard, I consider my burned up grass to be a minor inconvenience. I can live with barren patches of scorched earth darkly glowering at me. I can live with the stumps of dead trees and bushes dotting the landscape like an eerie scene from On the Beach. I don't mind the flowers dying on their vines, and I can even tolerate the wilting population, sweat and all.

It confounds me how the same people who complained endlessly about the snow just six short months ago can now complain about the heat at the other end of the spectrum. The same people who swore that summer would a blessed relief are now anxiously awaiting the breaking out of the fall wardrobe, looking forward to sweaters and even, dare I say, boots.

Not me. I will cling to my shorts and camisole tops. [Yes, I realize 50 is too old for cami tops, but if it's 109 degrees outside, I'll wear what I want.] I will not abandon my flip flops and sunscreen one moment before I am forced. Life is too short to be cold, and I'm going to embrace the heat while I have it.

It is fascinating to me that in winter, people pine away endlessly for the summer heat. They dream about fun under a constantly glowing orb, and take vacations to warmer climes, desperate for the feel of the heat on their face. Then, when the heat arrives, they are dissatisfied with the experience, longing instead for the biting cold of winter snapping at their nose.

I try to exercise my mind as much as I can, within the confines of my own rather humdrum existence. I read, I walk, I think. I will never be flexible enough to eschew the summer heat for the bitterness of winter. I will leave those kinds of acrobatics for the more whimsical among us.

I sweat, therefore I am. It's not Shakespeare, but it's good enough for me.