Heat Stroke

I am not a fair weather person.  People think I am joking when they compliment a beautiful sunny day and my reply is, it's too hot...I moved here for the gloom.  It is true, I had lived through 33 years of heat and humidity in New Jersey and the Oregon climate appealed to me.  The fact is I don't do well in the heat.  Fortunately when it is hot here I can usually find the climate is perfect under a shaded porch.

I thought I could handle the heat yesterday, but I was wrong.  It wasn't that hot, probably 80 degrees or below.  There was a nice breeze.  I was building an arbour which took some digging and wood to be screwed together.  I was pacing myself.  I had a large mug of ice water that I tapped pretty often.  I took frequent breaks in the shade.  I was doing everything right, but after I finished building what I could in a day I took one more break in the shade before putting my tools away at around 4PM.  I started to sense some indigestion and suddenly all the water I consumed through out the day came rumbling up and was expelled across the lawn.  At that point I moved up to the porch where there is always a breeze and I was cooling off pretty well, but my wife came home and saw how pale I looked and told me I needed to lay down with ice packs to which I complied.  I stayed in bed motionless for two hours and when I was able to get up again I felt like I had a serious ass-whipping.  I rested the rest of the evening and I still feel drained today.  I'm drinking Gatorade hoping to restore the electrolytes.

I think back to the days I would ride my bicycle 30 miles on hot/humid days.  I recall working on a farm in 1969, the summer of Woodstock, which was hot and humid every day.  I just can't do what I used to. I accept that and I'll take on outdoor projects in the early morning and stop when starts getting warm while keeping in mind that the gloom will return one day.

Itching For A Fight

I have never been in fights other than verbal fights, but I've known people who are always on the look-out for a physical fight they can jump in on.  I recall a friend on the east coast who would always fantasize about throwing someone through this beautiful floor to ceiling divided glass window at one house we often drove by.  I had another friend who would go to bars, order his beer and drink it with his back turned to the bar.  He was like a hawk on a power line, just looking for a mouse to run through the field below.

I was surprised when Blue Mamba told me about her fighting history.  When growing up she always felt sorry for the underdog regardless of what position the underdog was fighting for.  If there was an underdog in a fight she'd jump right into the brawl to help out.  She just loved the excitement.  Mostly she loves fighting.

If you could see her now she appears as a stylish professional adult of means and would never suspect there is a savage heart beneath with a fight clock ticking and purring inside her.  The alarm is always set on her fight clock.

We recently went out for a farewell dinner in Astoria. Yes, Blue Mamba, the focus of many posts here over the years, is sadly moving away.  Any way, behind where I was seated a family of three came in. The adult male was acting badly and suddenly Blue Mamba's eyes widened and a glint of a smile came to her face.  Her claws were coming out.  She was on the edge of involvement, but fortunately the woman at the table apologise to the waiter that her husband was bi-polar and they would be leaving.  Through the rest of our time there Blue Mamba kept revisiting what had happened at that table, which I couldn't see.  I could see she was disappointed that the opportunity to rise up and put up a fight for the underdog mother and son never got to the point where it would have been considered feasible and justifiable.  It almost got to that point, but not quite.

I'm sure Blue Mamba went home and dreamed of battle that night.  She is a warrior.