So Hot You Can Fry An Egg On...

Like one of my fellow Roses, the words hot and August remind me of a song and more than a few memories. "Hot town, summer in the city", a line from the song, always comes to mind on hot, August days. I was born in Phoenix, Arizona in August. Definitely a hot town in August.

My mom says I was covered in a heat rash the first couple of months of my life. I still feel the same about the heat! One of my earlier memories is of walking barefoot, hopping from patch of grass to patch of anything green to keep from burning my feet. We never had a swimming pool but spent many hours playing in the sprinkler. It seems I spent my childhood in shorts, barefooted and consuming mass quantities of Popsicles.

By August, the days were not only hot but humid. In the middle of the afternoon, my sister and I would stretch out on the floor of the living room, close the curtains and turn on television. We'd watch Movie Matinee which played the old movies from my mom's teen years. Those old movies and my mom's stories of her early years in Phoenix were the inspiration for my book, Honey On White Bread.

Many August nights, the monsoons would roll in. First the smell of wet mesquite bush and dust would fill the air as thunderheads built in the distance. They would migrate over the city, boiling pink and purple in the setting sun. My dad and I would sit in the back of his pick up and watch the lightening until the rain came. Drove Mom crazy since she was frightened by lightening.

Did you know you can fry an egg on the hood of a car in Phoenix in the summer? It's true. Can't turn the heat up much higher than August in Phoenix.

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She blogs on the 9^th and 24^th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com

She blogs about prairie life and writing at http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/

No More Hot Summer Nights for Me by Alison Henderson

I grew up in Kansas City, one of the hot summer night capitals of the world. On a typical August evening, the temperature could easily be well above 80 degrees at ten o'clock. And humid? Don't get me started. I used to wonder why summers in the bone-dry prairie, more than a thousand miles from the nearest ocean, were always so humid. No matter what the weatherman said about hot air currents pulling moist air up from the Gulf, it never made sense to me.

Even as a child, I wasn't a fan of hot, humid weather, but I do have fond memories of those years. We played outside barefoot and in shorts until bedtime. Lightning bugs were as thick as the bloodthirsty "skeeters". We didn't need jackets to watch fireworks on the 4th of July. 

One of my favorite memories of summer as a child was making homemade peach ice cream with my mother. We made it the old-fashioned way--with a hand-crank freezer and plenty of elbow grease, taking turns when our arms gave out. It was hard work, but the reward was priceless. Nothing compares to the flavor of a tree-ripened peach. I haven't had one in years. I'm not sure you can even find them anymore unless you grow your own.

Almost twenty-five years ago, my husband and I moved with our daughter to Minnesota, and summer nights changed. The air was cooler and less humid--much better for sleeping, but we had to bundle up for the fireworks, and lightning bugs were few and far between. 

Last April, we moved again, this time to the Central Coast of California, where summer is fog season near the ocean. Even sunny days begin and end with fog. Sometimes it's heavy and dense, but more often ghostly fingers caress the hilltops and float inland along the river. Nights here are cool year-round--perfect for someone suffering from hot flashes. I don't need air conditioning, and I'm never too hot. If I get nostalgic for hot summer nights, I can always hop on a plane and visit my family back in Kansas City.

Alison
www.alisonhenderson.com