Hotter than a $2 cookstove? Not quite…

No, Virginia, it is NOT 120 degrees in lovely uptown Arizona today. Ridikulous hysterical journalists!

At 2:00 in the afternoon, it’s only 118° out there. This is about as hot as it’s likely to get today. And it’s really not that extreme. Around the first part of July, temps upward of 115° are common. It’s a little early. But Mother Nature does not schedule her moods according to the Gregorian Calendar.

This morning it was only 85° out there when Ruby, Cassie, and I took to the streets (about 4:30 or quarter to 5. Back at the Funny Farm, the Human booted the Bird out of the pool and took over the territory for itself. The water was fairly cool. Showering and washing my hair in the hose was even a little chilly.

We who are a Human then cleaned and backwashed the pool, its filter having become a bit clogged after the tree-trimming venture. Before it got much hotter, the Human had the floors vacuumed and the bathrooms cleaned.

The Dogs are shedding more than one would expect at this season–it’s only been a week or so since the last House Cleansing. Usually the place can go a couple of weeks without a serious cleaning. But as tufts of dog hair drifted through the air, I realized I was going to be forced to break out the vacuum cleaner. Phhphhhbbffttt! The thing was chuckablock full of dog hair after a quickie cleanup.

Then it was on to the bathrooms.

I really, really love those Mrs. Meyer’s household cleaners. They don’t stink too bad — the ideal flavor is “bluebell,” a mild scent that smells neither industrial nor annoyingly aromatherapeutic — and they really clean well. The laundry detergent, the glass cleaner, and the all-purpose surface cleaner all work very effectively.

They also have a toilet cleaner that actually works better than Lysol (!!!), but it only comes in “lemon verbena” and “lavender,” neither of which are my favorite scents.

A couple of days ago, in the absence of any immediately pressing editorial assignments, I succumbed to a frenzy of house-cleaning and went so far as to — hang onto your hat — clean the walls and woodwork.

The difference is amazing. I actually was thinking it was time to have the house’s interior painted. But scrubbing down the walls, which was energetic but not all that difficult, made such a difference that I think the paint job can be put off for awhile longer. Thank goodne$$.

I’d like to condition (not to say “oil,” which one should not…) the leather furniture and also oil the kitchen cabinets. But laziness trumps industry at this time of year. It’s been quite a while since I’ve applied orange oil to the kitchen woodwork…it’s quite a job, and until recently I haven’t been up for “quite a job.”

Orange oil, FYgeneralI, is really nice on furniture and real-wood cabinetry. It’s even better than lemon oil, and it smells better, too. I wouldn’t use anything else on the wildly expensive Thomas Moser creations that litter my house…but it also does wonders for the pine cabinets that Satan and Proserpine installed in the kitchen. (But DO be careful if you have light-colored wood or, of course, on untreated wood).

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So lest you think  all this domestic energy signals a benign climate here in the Valley of the We Do Mean Sun…consider. Two hapless souls, both young people, dared to challenge the desert in all its summer severity, with dire consequences.

A pair of young men  took it upon themselves to hike the Peralta Trail, a parched and shadeless track through the Superstition Mountains. They left at 7:30 in the morning — about two hours too late — and failed to carry enough water with them. By 1:30 p.m. one of them, a 25-year-old, was gone.

And today another  young person — a 28-year-old woman — collapsed on a trail in one of the city’s mountain parks. It was only 9 in the morning, at which time the temps were around 95 or 100 degrees, and her party was only about a mile from the trailhead. Not likely she would have succumbed to heat exhaustion and dehydration after just a mile of hiking, especially since she was apparently quite fit. More likely she has some unrecognized physical condition.

I’ve hiked the desert in 100-degree-plus heat and, evidently, not died. But. I carried phenomenal amounts of water with me (you don’t even want to know how much a gallon or two of water weighs), and I stuck to the washes, where tangles of riparian brush and trees provide a lot of shade. If you simply must do any such foolish thing, you have to carry a great deal more water than you think you’ll need — and that probably will not be enough. And you have to hit the trail right at dawn, not a minute later.

Alas. Our imports from other parts of the country seem to have no clue.

Please. It’s hot here. Stay home. Don’t come to Arizona in the summertime.