It’s 6:42 am and already it’s 81 degrees.
If I were on vacation in Fiji or Florida, I would think it was cool and exotic that it was this hot this early, and I would diligently lather on sunscreen, throw on my bathing suit and head for the beach. I don’t mind weather that tops 90 degrees—when I’m fifteen feet from a body of water.
But I am not in Florida, much less Fiji. I am in week two of the heat wave from hell. It’s been over 90 for almost fourteen days straight and yesterday it was 100. This is New England, people! Land of craggy coastlines, lobster, sea breezes, and chilly summer nights that call for light sweaters. Perhaps, Connecticut didn’t get the memo this year.
Until now, I’ve mostly had summers off (yay, college!), so I wasn’t expected to think or function in any capacity between May 15th and September 5th. The two years I worked after undergrad, I literally kept a sweatshirt and blanket under my desk because the office was so over-air conditioned. So now I’m just discovering how poorly I function in relentless heat.
I think I am finally adjusting, but so far it’s made my brain fuzzy, by skin sticky, and my disposition crabby. I feel that I have been left no choice but to eat ice cream. So, here’s a favorite recipe of mine. Mom’s PB cookies…turned into ice cream sandwiches. Nothing is that bad when you’ve got a few of these in your freezer.