Every couple of years, we seem to have "the summer that wasn't." Two thousand and nine appears to be one of those years. We had a very nice, sunny, HOT week back in June, but it seems like a long, long, time ago.
Except for that really nasty hail storm two weeks ago, most of the thunderstorms have been pretty mild. Still, with that first crack of thunder, our cat Chester goes flying across the house to hide under the guest bed. This is actually the worst place he could go. That room has a skylight and when the rain beats down on that bubble of plexiglass, it sounds like Ringo Star banging on drums. My Mom and Dad's dog, Jessie, has recently developed a fear of thunder. I read an article in the paper not long ago about pets and thunderstorms. Unlike us, they would prefer NOT to be comforted, which is difficult for people like me who want to reassure my pet that things are okay and we won't let anything hurt him. But, he's a cat. To quote comedian Robert Klein, "he's got a brain the size of a walnut."
I don't ever remember a year when we had to turn the heat on in July. Hello! We've got the heat on in July! I think we've only run our AC once. (During that hot week I mentioned above.) Okay, we haven't had to water the gardens, but we have considered building an Ark.
Unlike life for the Jetsons (remember, Jane would call handyman Henry who would raise the building above the clouds to give them a sunny day), you can't do anything about the weather. If I could, it would be perpetually 77 with low humidity, and blue skies smiling at me.
Too bad I don't have Henry to get us out of the clouds.