One’s individual comfort zone

I’ve always been hot natured. Heat and humidity do not a happy Mickey make. I always figure if one is cold one can put on more clothes another coat, sweater, hat or pair of gloves, etc. But, if one is hot one can only pull off so much. Personally, I’ve found that standing around in one’s birthday suit only goes over well under certain conditions. My first job, after my formalized education, was in Dallas. This will come as a surprise but it can be hot and humid in Big D. From there I moved to Austin . . . same deal with heat and humidity. ALL (in both villages) said I’d get used to the heat and humidity. And what again is the moon made out of’ Upon completion of my five year stay in Big A I moved to Colorado just as fast as my little legs would carry me. By the time I arrived I was gasping for air, dry cool air. It seems the twenty something formative years I’d spent on the high plains of Tejas were coming home to roost. You see, I’m originally from Lubbock. It’s located on the Llano Estacado aka the Rocky Mountain Plains. The plains (oh ye of little faith) end 30 miles east of Lubbock at an escarpment appropriately named The Caprock. The elevation at the Lubbock International (Ahem) Airport is right at 3,300 feet above sea level. So, it’s relatively high. It’s also relatively dry. But when I go back to Lubbock from time to time I feel sticky. Sticky’ How can one feel sticky in Lubbock, Hub of the Plains’ Have you ever read the little epistle called: “How You Know If You’re From Colorado'” One of the points listed is that if one is from Colorado one always feels “sticky” anywhere else. Amen! Allow me to explain. Some (possibly all of you) will view the following with a jaundiced eye. I’ve seen the humidity reports on our local TV station as low as 4% (that’s four percent’not a typo). When new “meteorologists” show up they’re always bowled over when they report the weather. They’ll start off with . . . “well, the humidity today is 17″‘that’s about as low as I’ve ever seen it in my 23 years on planet earth.” This guy or gal is usually from Minneapolis or some such. Soon it’s, “good heavens’the humidity is 7%…how can that be'” You’re in “cool, colorful” Bubba, that’s how it can be. Another little “sticky” problem I face when returning to the place of my birth is bunking with dear ol’ Dad. Dad is 89 years young. His birthday is really March 7 but he celebrates March 8. It seems my father’s mother wrote his birthday in the family Bible as March 7, 1912, but when the doctor returned to the hospital (via horse drawn buggy) a week after the fact he instructed the hospital to make the birth certificate out to read March 8, 1912’so, the 8th it is. Anyway, the Guv (as we call him) keeps the temperature in the house at eighty something degrees the year around. Last May cousin Larry and I spent the night with the Guv and after he went to bed we (being the two little boys we always shall be) sneaked in and turned the air conditioner on and down to about 65 degrees. It was either that or die an agonizing death by slow cooking. The next morning to our extreme delight the temperature had returned to eighty something. It seems the Guv had risen around 3-ish and switched said thermostat back to heat and then cranked ‘er up. Being mere youngsters at 60 years old Larry and I thought we could out smart this almost-90-year-old. Oh well, the price of the room and board were right. And the food the Guv cooks on his charbroiler is to die for: His secret’slow cooking. In summary, I beg of you to cool down your house should a relative or friend (or both) from “up north” come a visitin’. It’s hard to blink through all that perspiration pouring off one’s forehead. Some might misinterpret it for tears. Perhaps rightfully so. Proverb for the New Millennium: A closed mouth gathers no feet. Mickey Smith is a cool, fresh air fiend who lives on a 7200′ mesa in the high mountain desert country of west central Colorado. On a clear day, looking west and standing on the tips of his toes, he can often spot the Pacific Ocean.

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