Back in the Humidity

My God – did we just forget? The humidity is like a tangible presence, a malevolent organism that is seeping into our skin, our bones, our cells and, unfortunately, our patience. We’re both so sticky and soggy that we’re short-tempered and headachy.

I remember disliking humidity, but I don’t remember it being impossible to get on with life. Counters feel sticky. Clothes are limp within moments of being removed from drawers and put on. Paper takes on the soft, wet, repulsive feel of some gross worm-like thing. Towels are useless when you get out of the shower, but nevertheless somehow absorb enough water to be still-wet hours later. Air conditioning makes interiors cold, but does nothing for the dampness. Your choices seem to be hot and sticky or cold and damp. And the insects are vicious. They’ve clearly taken over the world in this neck of the woods and they do as they please, inside and out.

My hair dryer makes me incredibly happy because the hot dry air feels like the desert. I consider whining like a child that I want to go home. I go ahead and do it. My husband smiles, as if it's a joke, but he looks pained and equally unsure we can actually stay here.

OK, we decide. We’re being ridiculous. We’ve always liked Door County. The home we’ve rented a few feet from the shore of Green Bay (the actual bay, not the town that’s had enough of Brett Favre) is gorgeous. We’ve gone to the grocery store for basics and to little gourmet markets for cheese and chopped cherry jam and artisan bread. We have enough bug repellent and anti-itch remedies to stay a step or two ahead of the bugs (we hope). The Internet connection works. Although the router doesn’t (so much for wi-fi on my laptop), there’s an adorable bakery/restaurant/gift shop with excellent wi-fi and coffee just two miles away. I pull myself together and whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies. While they bake, I work on my new book. The words flow and the time flies and the cookies are delicious.

This is going to be fine.