It’s 7 p.m., and the thermometer in the shade of the back porch reads 111°.
No kidding. It’s a hundred and eleven degrees out there…in the shade…at 7:00 p.m.
How in the name of Heaven do Gerardo and his guys survive in this, banging away they do? It’s horrific to contemplate.
My father survived, wrangling tugboats and tankers in very similar weather: stupidly hot, stupidly humid.
More humid, as a matter of fact. I can remember standing in the front yard of a balmy summer day and having it rain on me out of a clear blue sky.
When humidity reaches a certain saturation, it simply condenses out of the air. Once, in Arabia, I saw that happpen: as I stood in the front yard under a clear blue, hot sky, rain just started falling. No clouds. No wind. No nothing but raindrops falling out of a hot blue sky.
Interestingly, that hasn’t happened here…yet. So I guess we can’t complain too much.