Pennsylvania apparently doesn't often suffer from the levels of humidity to which I grew accustomed - didn't know any better - living in Ohio, Georgia, and Alabama. When I would visit those places, or more sultry locations like Mexico, after moving to Idaho, I'd mutter a curse at how I felt like I was wearing a wet blanket taken straight from a hot dryer.
Temps in our neighborhood reached nearly 90 today, with humidity around 80%. Tina, having acquiesced in her battle with the humid air for control of her hair, admitted that she appreciates its affects on her skin. She noted, though, that after having walked only a few blocks I had already sweated through the t-shirt I was wearing (Icebreaker merino wool, chosen especially for the occasion. If you aren't familiar with the all-season wonders of merino wool, I'll be happy to educate you). To put it very politely, I was uncomfortable.
haze over Philly
Sitting on our little porch this evening, though, the dark and quiet was punctuated by the distant flash and thump of a fireworks display in an adjacent town. I felt an occasional breeze lift the dogwood leaves in our front yard and listened to the rattle of melting ice settling in my glass. I remembered sitting with my grandparents in their yard in rural northeast Georgia listening to a train approaching through the drone of the crickets; sitting on curbs outside stadiums after shows, eating PB&J sandwiches and chatting with my drum corps family; camping among and climbing the gritty limestone cliffs at Red River Gorge...
At night, I realized, humidity has a different personality - becomes a familiar and comfortable character, one I like to spend time with.
I really am surprised that hats aren't a regular accessory in this part of the country. I take extending the "hat" trend over wearing, what appears to be, the un-kept wet look. Still, I manage with my flat iron, hair ties and hair pins on the days when a hat isn't conducive to the outfit. Oh, what I do to stay stylin' (tongue-in-cheek).
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