Memorial Day weekend with our Brooklyn girl

Brooklyn came this weekend and after she arrived, we decided to clean. Not the bathroom, but her sheets were line-dried and we gave her a fresh crunchy towel. Pat did all the dishes – our 5 glasses, 3 bowls, 5 plates now that everything else is packed. The house is completely disheveled: I’ve been moving all the boxes and furniture and picture frames into a little corner downstairs, so I figured we didn’t need to clean too much – other than “moving time” where the house begins to echo, there’s no going back from this mess. While I was vacuuming the stairs, the entire machine fell on my head because I pulled it too hard. I had visions of bleeding from my ears and having to go to the hospital on a holiday weekend – so I toughed it out. I’ve been hit in the head worse. Once playing soccer, I got noggin-kicked and had a mild concussion. This was no where near that and other than the tender lump, the lack in brain cells might be helpful right now. I think too much anyway.

It’s been beyond muggy – the past weekend we lived in an old man’s gym shorts and it wasn’t pretty. Humidity is something I will never ever get used to, which is why I think we can handle 100+ degrees of dry heat in Phoenix. I grew up in dry heat. It doesn’t feel like a wet blanket pulling you down. I started to think I caught a sweating disease, but realized it was just being on the east coast.
We coped well enough and made sangria and drank all the sangria and laid around in the grass and hammock. I cooked cheese burgers and grilled corn on the cob. Every hour or so we’d get relief from a thunderstorm. “Does Phoenix get thunderstorms?” I asked. We watched the sky as it rolled dark clouds over us. The rain started, dropping the temperature 10 degrees. We didn’t even run inside. We laid like slugs on lawn chairs, letting it cool on our skin.

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