I think we're all in trouble. From my vantage point, it seems that God has finally caught up with Noah, and realized that He got snowed. Noah wasn't supposed to get to build an Ark at all. Or, maybe he was, but he was only supposed to put the animals on it and then get washed away himself. Either way, God has decided that the East Coast needs to be thoroughly cleansed.
It has been raining more or less incessantly for three days, and it's most irritating. Although my basement remains above the water table, there are definite signs of mildew down there that have never existed before. Walking through the house is like a tour in a velvet-furnished aquarium. I fully expect to see the cats wearing little snorkels. Those houses that have air conditioning are suffering from strained electric power, as the a/c labors desperately to dehumidify.
Out in the garden? far from respite, it's even worse out there; the clothes I hung out to dry (naturally, right before the deluge) are still there and of course have no chance to dry. If I run the dryer, that will only increase heat in the basement and encourage the uninvited mildew. The roses are, to their eternal credit, throwing off a nice second showing of blooms, but I'm figuring on a nasty crop of blackspot from the insane moisture in the air. A neighbor's nifty li'l digital weather station showed 91% humidity today. To top it all off, last night when I turned in, my bedsheets were actually damp. This isn't just summer weather, this is the Second Coming of the Flood.
Yet, I'm forced to giggle at my friends who have moved here from Somewhere Else. Specifically, I'm laughing at the expense of my friends from California and the Southwest. I do love my people, but those folks are always telling us Easterners how much bigger, better and badder their world is. (In all fairness, we've been doing the same to them since the day that we shipped all of our undesirables out there to settle the place.)
Whenever I complain of the heat, the Westerners immediately point out that in San Diego, Phoenix et al, the summer temperatures routinely hit 110.
Groovy. You don't have humidity out there either, now do you? A day like the past three we've had here sends all of them fleeing for the nearest air-conditioned picture palace, if not the ticket counter for Southwest Airlines. I can't say that I blame them.
To every seven-hundred-mile-long raincloud though, there is a silver lining. This is mine: While Baltimore and Richmond sweat it out, and the Eastern shore is washing away, Washington is filling up with its own sewage. Many of the Federal buildings closed today because their basements were, um, wet.
For over a century now, Baltimoreans all, from the grimy dockworkers of Highlandtown to the dainty ladies of Guilford, have wiped the sweat from their brows and thanked God that despite all they do not live in the cesspool that is Washington. The Patapsco stinks every summer, but it doesn't invade our basements usually, while the Potomac seems to have a mission to spread pestilence through the Nation's Capital, and the mosquitoes that swarm in Washington give the Air Force itself a run for its money. God is looking out for us in one way or another, I suppose; there may be mildew forming on my forehead, but at least I'm not floating on a sea of runoff water and poop.
It has been raining more or less incessantly for three days, and it's most irritating. Although my basement remains above the water table, there are definite signs of mildew down there that have never existed before. Walking through the house is like a tour in a velvet-furnished aquarium. I fully expect to see the cats wearing little snorkels. Those houses that have air conditioning are suffering from strained electric power, as the a/c labors desperately to dehumidify.
Out in the garden? far from respite, it's even worse out there; the clothes I hung out to dry (naturally, right before the deluge) are still there and of course have no chance to dry. If I run the dryer, that will only increase heat in the basement and encourage the uninvited mildew. The roses are, to their eternal credit, throwing off a nice second showing of blooms, but I'm figuring on a nasty crop of blackspot from the insane moisture in the air. A neighbor's nifty li'l digital weather station showed 91% humidity today. To top it all off, last night when I turned in, my bedsheets were actually damp. This isn't just summer weather, this is the Second Coming of the Flood.
Yet, I'm forced to giggle at my friends who have moved here from Somewhere Else. Specifically, I'm laughing at the expense of my friends from California and the Southwest. I do love my people, but those folks are always telling us Easterners how much bigger, better and badder their world is. (In all fairness, we've been doing the same to them since the day that we shipped all of our undesirables out there to settle the place.)
Whenever I complain of the heat, the Westerners immediately point out that in San Diego, Phoenix et al, the summer temperatures routinely hit 110.
Groovy. You don't have humidity out there either, now do you? A day like the past three we've had here sends all of them fleeing for the nearest air-conditioned picture palace, if not the ticket counter for Southwest Airlines. I can't say that I blame them.
To every seven-hundred-mile-long raincloud though, there is a silver lining. This is mine: While Baltimore and Richmond sweat it out, and the Eastern shore is washing away, Washington is filling up with its own sewage. Many of the Federal buildings closed today because their basements were, um, wet.
For over a century now, Baltimoreans all, from the grimy dockworkers of Highlandtown to the dainty ladies of Guilford, have wiped the sweat from their brows and thanked God that despite all they do not live in the cesspool that is Washington. The Patapsco stinks every summer, but it doesn't invade our basements usually, while the Potomac seems to have a mission to spread pestilence through the Nation's Capital, and the mosquitoes that swarm in Washington give the Air Force itself a run for its money. God is looking out for us in one way or another, I suppose; there may be mildew forming on my forehead, but at least I'm not floating on a sea of runoff water and poop.
posted by Daniel | 12:03 AM
5 Comments:
While we've had less acutal rainfall here in Capital City, we can match you with the humidity readings.
At bedtime, I wasn't sure if I needed pajamas, or a bathing suit. I chose p.j.s, and cozied under damp sheets in my semi-air conditioned house last night; they made me think of summer camp and trips to the beach.
I'm building a Lego ark, and float away to safety. See ya!
In th' grand Scheme o' things, this all reminds me of the first year that our crowd took the now-famed beach house at Rehoboth Beach.
Yea, the winds did blow and the rain did drench, and we spent the whole fershlugginer week in an impossibly damp house, trying to keep ourselves amused with beachtown shopping and card games.
It sucked, but then at least we WERE out of the city for a whole week.
110 is nothing in the desert. The first summer I was out here was 2000. That was a year of rolling blackouts, where the power company would take down grids for an hour because of too much demand and not enough supply. One day, I'm out doing my business, thinking that it seems a little warmer than it had been, maybe 90ish. Some of the shops I tried to go to were closed because they had no power, okay, that's fine, on to the next destination. I get home later that night and watch the news (when the power returned at my apartment), and they're screaming about the record heat wave in the area. Top temperature in San Jose? 109.
What had I thought it was? Yeah, 90. These people are weak.
And a couple of summers ago my annual stamp convention was in Orlando in July. All the girls here were excited, they'd get to go to Disneyworld, yay fun. My thoughts were "Orlando? In July? Really?" I warned them that humidity was not a pretty thing, and they scoffed. And then the convention happened, and I arrived a day later than they did, and first thing I asked was "how about that weather?" They said they had no idea how I lived in that for so long. ;)
Having said all of that, I will now amend my previous comment. Yes, you have humidity and we don't. However, air-conditioning is also commonplace for you. It's been over 100 degrees for the last couple of days, and inside my house it's gotten up that as well.
Consider that for a moment. One hundred degrees, inside the house.
I am...limp.
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