Boiling Points...

It’s been extremely hot and humid lately.

We’re in Stuart, Florida for Sunday-Monday.

It feels like we’ve been transported to Hell,

it’s so uncomfortable.

I wish I could shed my skin.

Paul ‘s fly fishing this Monday morning, at Bathtub Beach

on Hutchinson Island.

It’s 9a.m. and the temp is already 87 degrees.

Tom and I are watching the manatees swim by, while Paul’s

hooking up on snook and tarpon.

The bath house is under renovation, otherwise we’d be swimming.

After an hour or so of being deep-fried, we leave Paul

and we head to the historic downtown waterfront area

on the St. Lucie River.

Jen had told me about the cute shops and galleries.

The breeze is blowing, cooling our damp skin.

Tom is an outdoor, no shop kind of guy.

He wants to be in the High Sierras, smelling clean and cool

mountain air and swimming in June Lake.

Tom has Nordic-Germanic blood.

He would’ve been a great Mountain Man, like Jedediah Smith.

Tom and his dad used to swim in the cold, San Francisco Bay.

Florida is the polar opposite.

Water temps hover at 90+degrees in the summer.

By noon, the air temp has reached 95.

The heat index is 102.

We look like we’ve just come out of the drink, our clothes

are hanging in damp folds.

We dart in and out of the frigid stores.

Ahhhh…

The people in Stuart are sweet as punch and I sure

could use a rum punch or mojito about now, but alcohol

makes me feel warmer.

After another hour of hot-footing the town and eating lunch,

we’ve plunked ourselves in an air-conditioned library.

Tom reads Barron’s and I catch up on Dave Barry books.

We finally pick up a very hot and tired Paul, and begin
heading home.
We’re trying to find a gas station with cheap gas.
Sometimes I feel like we’re the Griswold’s on vacation.

We blunder into the first station, promising 4 cents

back with cash.

Ha-- only if you pay at the pump, which Tom doesn’t.

Just a block away we see gas 8 cents cheaper.
That makes Tom even hotter under the collar.

We’ve made headway onto the 95, until…

a multiple car pileup has stopped us.
Of course, the two left lanes of traffic are merging over

to our lane. We’re not going anywhere.

We’re traveling at worm speed…

After 20 minutes and several demolished cars
and suv's later, we’re driving non-stop.

Finally, we’re on Alligator Alley.

Naples is a good hour and forty minutes away.

Meanwhile I’m watching cruising alligators in the canals.
I've counted 12 already.

There’s something comforting when you finally make it home…

the driveway never looked so good.