SUMMER NIGHT

Turn pillow over

Trying to find the cool spot

Sleep eludes in heat

Why should I be surprised by Chicago's weather? I've lived here all my life, which is (muffled) years now. 48 hours ago, we had the heat on and I was complaining about my cold feet. I was wearing long pants, denim shirt, wool socks and shoes. Windows all closed. And it was MAY freakin' 29th!!

(picture of yard on May 29th. sort of. well, not really, but it's what it FELT like)

It's been this way for months now. Usually in Chicago, we get a spate of 60 degree weather. OK, so it's usually in January, but at least we still get it. And spring usually visits us for a day or two in April and then a few weeks of spring-ish wonderfulness during May and early June.

Then Hell begins and last thru to September.

(I hate hot weather)

(Gary hates the cold weather, I hate the hot weather, so we live in Chicago where we are both either happy or miserable for part of the year. It's a great system. And worked fine till I began to hate both winter and summer and Gary began to hate both summer and winter. Dem's da breaks.)

Anyhow.

Yesterday it went from a high of around (and I use that word loosely) 60 on Sunday to around 90 with high humidity on Monday.

WHAT HAPPENED TO SPRING?

Spring. Ah, Spring. Lovely days with comfortable days, blooming flowers, soft breezes. The hope of something new and wonderful. Gentle winds coming in through windows, and cool, crisp nights where you so happy to get into bed with the window open a crack and snuggle under a light blanket. Gentle rains water the grass and flowers and it's perfect weather to sit on the deck and eat breakfast and dinner.

(picture of Spring. Ah Spring.)

Ahhhhh...Spring.

Well, listen up buddy boy, NOT IN CHICAGO!

Yesterday all the fans were on in the house. We (by we, I mean Gary) cooked outside. All my requests for turning on the air conditioning were met with "No! We just turned off the furnace!" It was hot. And humid. And humid. And hot. And hot. And humid. And humid. And hot. And hot. And humid. And humid. And hot. And hot. And humid. And humid. And hot.

Did I mention it was hot and humid?

(It's not the heat, it is the humidity. At least that's what the school of fish who swam by my head on my deck yesterday confirmed. It's the humidity.)

(picture of deck in the humidity, and the school of fish that informed that it

is indeed the humidity and not the heat that counts.)

(Sort of. Well it FELT like this.)

Last night, the fan went in the window, the blankets were tossed off the bed and the cotton sheets became too hot to use.

And then began the eternal game of finding that sweet cool spot on the pillow. You know, turn it over and it's cool. An hour later, do it again. Not much sleep, but at least one can cool off some.

HAH!

Is it too freakin' much to ask for a freakin' week of spring? In freakin'Chicago? Maybe it's our freakin' punishment for not having a freakin'Daley for mayor.... If that's the case, well, freakin' Montana sounds freakin'* good about now.


(*the use of the word "Freakin'" is in honor of the new freakin' mayor of freakin' Chicago, freakin' known for his freakin' way with freakin' words.)