Summer Grumbles And Musings

Shayla says:

It’s summer time, or as we call it here in Phoenix, “boob sweating season.” I see the commercials for anti-depressants during the winter for those who suffer from something called “seasonal affective disorder” and think, “I’m 85% sure that I have that in the summer.”

ADD sidebar: I’m also a hypochondriac so I spend a fair amount of time thinking I have most of the diseases that are on television from rheumatoid arthritis to Crohn’s disease.

ADD sidebar to my ADD sidebar…if you discovered a disease that is associated with chronic diarrhea like Dr. Crohn, would you want it named after you? I looked it up and two other doctors discovered it with him. I feel like they were probably like, “No dude. That’s cool. You can name it after you.”

So as I was saying, I’m 85% sure I suffer from summertime seasonal affective disorder.

What about the other 15%?

I have to take into account the PMS moments that will occur during those three months. Sometimes my hormones, not the heat, make me a hot mess.

Plus I’m a writer, not a mathematician. I’m much better with word problems…I take my problems and put them to words.

Summers in Phoenix mean a few things:

I may need to sell an organ or child to be able to afford to set my air conditioning at a comfortable level;

By July, I have developed the rage of a UFC fighter vowing that if one more person from out of town tells me “but it’s a dry heat” I will put them in a headlock and shove their behind in a 500 degree oven while yelling, “Stop crying! It’s a dry heat!” Of course, in the end I realize how much this will cause me to sweat and decide it’s not worth it;

I must wear shoes (Great. One more area on my body that will be sweating);

My pets don’t know if it’s day or night because opening the shades, blinds, and curtains is forbidden;

I will reach a new level of debilitating laziness. This laziness will be explained as such: “I was going to__________ but it was too hot to do anything.”

ADD sidebar: Last night my husband got us take out for dinner. At first I told him I wanted a baked potato. Then I told him never mind. I wanted mashed potatoes instead because I generally just mush up the baked potato anyway and the thought of having to mush up my own baked potato seemed too overwhelming. 

That’s some serious summertime seasonal affective disorder laziness right there.

Today, as I woke up, I knew I would be forced to venture out into the blazing sun because we were out of dog food and my dogs were doing the “it’s time to feed the dogs” dance. This dance is quite entertaining actually. We can never use the words “time” “feed” or “dogs” without having our 90lb black lab/Weimeraner leaping in the air like a gazelle or the fat little beagle/Chihuahua mix barking like a demented seal.

I am neither a morning person nor a summer person so I wholeheartedly resented having to get dressed and look somewhat presentable to society.

ADD sidebar: Sometimes I wonder if Sage has to worry about looking presentable out there in the country.

For instance, I try to schedule outings on the day I get my hair done because I know it’s the one day ever five weeks that my hair will be doing what I’ve intended it to do.

Does Sage even go to get her hair done?

I once saw a picture of her kids after the oldest daughter had cut the youngest daughter’s hair. The youngest daughter looked traumatized with bangs cut to her scalp while the oldest daughter looked sassily at the camera like “Uh huh. That’s right. I did it.” 

Just picturing it in my head makes me giggle.

I cut my own daughter’s hair once when she was a toddler. She ended up looking like a little boy from a Mayan village.

Here in the city we are expected to get our hair done unless you’re homeless. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass, but on the plus side, I’m 44 years old and rarely have grays…

So I strapped on the big girl bra and resting bitch face and headed to Target which is about a mile away…just far enough for me to only get 2nd degree burns on my hands from touching the steering wheel, just close enough that the air conditioning doesn’t even have time to get cold.

I picked up a 20lb bag of dog food and a 12 pack of toilet paper (ADD sidebar: I have an irrational fear that I will run out of toilet paper so pick up a package nearly every time I’m at the store), two bulky items that my little t-rex arms can’t juggle so I have to use a cart.

As I get to the checkout, I notice the woman in front of me has what appears to be an empty cart. And then I see a tiny little box of tampons in the seat. For a moment I wanted to say something hilarious to her about needing a cart for a tiny box of tampons.

ADD sidebar: I like to try to joke with people I don’t know as much as with people I do know.  My mom says I never met a stranger. I know we weren't supposed to talk to strangers as kids. I'm pretty sure it was all my talking that kept me from being kidnapped though.

75% of the time strangers enjoy my humor. 

That of course is writer’s math right there.  

While it was tempting to be a smart ass, I looked at the woman and thought I better not. 

Like the saying goes, hell hath no fury like a hormonal woman.” (Okay. Maybe that’s just my saying.) 

Besides, who’s to say she doesn’t suffer from Phoenix summer seasonal affective disorder too?

I suppose I could’ve said something encouraging to her but it was too hot to do anything.  

Sage Says:

Its June 11th, and I am wearing a long sleeve western shirt, cowboy hat and khaki pants.  

Its a toasty 70 degrees out.  At 6:00am it was 48 degrees.  We don't have a whole lot of heat here in the mountains, though it is more of a dry heat. (snicker snicker)   

I go to the cities and rush home, thankful I survived.  I've been to Phoenix a few times.  Never in June.  Or July.  But I did do southern Florida in June, once.  I survived.  In fact, I liked it, but I was ready to come home and not wake up with my pjs soaked from my own sweat.

Squirrel!  We leave for South Carolina in a week for a wedding for my all-time favorite young man.  He is just one of those people that makes the world better because he is in it. You know, like Shayla.  Just don't bother her in the heat.  Anyway - Thomas tells me, "Its hot.  Theres no cool breeze like you have, there is no breeze at all...its not like Chama."  He is genuinely worried I might melt, after all he has seen me quit working in the middle of the afternoon because humidity reached 40% and it hit 82 degrees.  

I'm not as tough as Shayla.  I work early and late and avoid the blistering mountain heat waves of 82 degrees as much as I can.  I help my kids wash show animals, I irrigate and get my feet in that 50 degree water and heat is not on my radar.  Thank goodness.  I get cranky when its over 82 and Shayla survives triple digits regularly.  I smile all the time here.  I've always thought it was because I am trying to be a nice person.  Nope.  It is the heat.  If Shayla was here, there would be no resting bitch face.  It would be a nice, relaxed smile.  And, if I was in Phoenix, they would probably have a whole new bad face name just for me.  "Ugh, it is hot.  That lady sure has her Sage face on."

I think city heat is different, though.  Here, our ground is still only about 60 degrees.  I am sure pavement is at least 200 degrees.  If not hotter.  If I lived there, my hair wouldn't ever be 'done'.  Though it isn't here, either.  

Squirrel!  Wait, I forgot the hair part!  I did just got my hair done.  I took out my braid, my friend that came over to help me fence made me brush it out and she cut straight across my back to trim my hair.  I braided it back up and we put on our gloves and went to fence.  OK, while I am not a hair-do-doer, I am a hypochondriac.  In fact, I just diagnosed myself with a new disease...Orthostatic hypotension.  I love the serious way it rolls off my tongue.  What is it, you ask?  I get lightheaded when I stand up quickly.  All these years, I thought I was just tall and the incredible distance between my head at the top of my body and close to the ground meant some serious adjustments for all the operational parts in between.  Nope.  It has a real name.  It is a disease.  I am pretty excited to add that one to my resume.  Oh, right.  back to the blog....

The kids and I cleaned up to go to Santa Fe (closest city) and watch a movie a month ago.  My son had his last basketball game and we went in and watched, planning to leave as soon as he was done.  I didn't get my hair done, but I did put on mascara and take off my hat.  I even put on a short sleeve shirt and earrings!  After we had gone, my friend told me, laughing, her son didn't even recognize me.  He had never seen me without work clothes and a hat on.  

There are a few hair salons in the area, but I've only gone once.  That involves committing to a time frame way out in the future, at least two weeks, and I am not even sure what the rest of my day looks like, much less hitting a bullseye appointment a full two weeks out.  I don't know how people operate on schedules.  Cows certainly don't follow them.  And, as the cow caretaker around here, I don't much, either.  

Squirrel!  I do have strands of glitter (ok, plain old gray hair) nowadays.  And I am proud to have them.  My grandmother grayed very early and very suddenly as she finished up nursing school.  As the oldest daughter during the depression, she left Canada to attend nursing school in New York.  She then went to Los Angeles to nurse.  She sent her money home to help with the younger siblings.  She must have earned that gray hair.  I always thought it would be a cool thing to inherit.  Alas, I just have a few grays that stick straight up.  

Where were we?  Oh, heat and hair-dos.  I have to say, most days, I just see my family and the cows, and so far, not a one of them has ever commented on my do.  I actually kind of like going for the crazy neighbor lady with the wild hair look because we do have a gated community with mostly weekend homes for city folk near the ranch, and sometimes they get pretty outrageous ideas about our cattle and ranch... I've been yelled at on more than one occasion by trespassers trying to help a brand new baby calf by pouring water on its head, or by people running their dogs after our cattle so they could feel like real wild dogs.  I have learned to yell back, when I need, and the crazy lady look just works in my favor in the mean time.  Maybe they can tell its been a long time since I had my hair done.  Most of the neighbors really are nice...and they seem to smile a lot, so the cool air must be helping.  

Either way, I am glad I am not in a scorching city this time of year.  Ok, I am glad of that every waking second I get to spend on this ranch, mostly because I know I wouldn't do well with hot pavement, hair appointments and dry heat comments.