When my Dad was a kid, he was on the neighborhood baseball team called the Amanda Heatwaves. He has fond memories of his childhood and the many hours of fun as one of the Heatwavians. The name couldn’t have been more foretelling. Last week I went to visit my Dad in the Midwest and believe me, I felt the presence of serious Heat!

I arrived to find Ohio gripped by near-record temperatures. I must admit that I was shocked. But, very quickly, I remembered growing up in the Miami River Valley, where the heat hangs in the air, like being covered with a wet dishtowel—or more accurately, like a heavy wet wool blanket. Yikes! People survive, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that it’s only by virtue of air conditioning. Even if they don’t have it at home, it’s cool at the grocery stores, offices, cinemas and restaurants. Rather than picking up food at the local drive-through, people linger inside over gigantic glasses of iced drinks. They nibble tepid fries at a snail’s pace, just to cool down for a bit. But we have to be careful, because that conditioned air can be deceiving. It’s all too easy to forget that it’s 96 degrees outside in the real world, with an adjusted Heat Index of 117 degrees. And I’m not kidding—117!

So, we just go casually about our business as if nothing unusual or horrific is actually happening. “Oh, look! There’s a deer munching on some leaves out in the backyard.” Then without thinking, you step outside to see where it wandered and hear yourself audibly gasp. Where’s the air? It’s woefully, almost painfully absent. A little deeper breath confirms that humans should not be out in this inferno. Five minutes and I’m sure I’d fall to the ground with a dull thud, since all the moisture in my body would evaporate during the free-fall. The deer don’t seem to be fainting, but I honestly don’t know why not.

On the breadbox in my brother’s kitchen is a thermometer. My Dad has one perched on his counter, too. They monitor the rise and fall of each degree. The coolest moment of the day seems to be around 6 am. From there, it just gets hotter, hotter and more humid, boiling its way straight through the night. It seems that if the clouds and everything else were put into one of those old wringer washers, the water would come pouring out like a heavy downpour. But rain doesn’t seem to appear much on the weather maps, only little squiggly lines representing HEAT. I remember a neighbor who  fried eggs on the hood of his car, as the local newspaper photographer snapped pictures. Now that’s hot!

During the peak heat waves, the weather has the power to actually alter decision-making. For example, only someone expecting to win the lottery would venture out to the mailbox, midday. So ordinary envelopes and fliers languish in those hot little boxes, soaking in the moist air. They cling together and sooner or later, when you finally go to retrieve them, they stain your fingertips with damp dye immediately upon contact—seemingly as punishment for leaving them outside in the caldron.

On my way to Dad’s place, I decided to stop for an iced coffee. There was no choice but to park and walk into the shop. Between the parked car and the door it felt like I was in a blast furnace. I picked up my pace. Then I started speed walking. Then I began alternating the walking with some strange kind of jogging. I popped through the door and rested against it, out of breath, as though the heat had been a persistent stalker that I had cleverly eluded. Whew! I brushed back some stray hairs loosened by my sort-of run and nonchalantly made eye contact with the clerk. “I know,” she greeted me with real sympathy. “How about something cold to drink, hon?” I managed a nod as I staggered away from the door. Then I  lingered  over the coldest coffee, the most refreshing beverage imaginable, making it one of those truly memorable moments. And for that sweet pause in my day, there was no trace of oppressive heat. No record setting temperatures. Just me and my iced coffee. Ahhh!

After my brief respite with the icey drink, I bucked up, steadied my resolve and left the coffee shop making a bee-line to the car. Next stop? A visit with Dad . . . a uniquely lovable Heatwave.

Posted on July 24, 2011

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