I was sitting here, fingers poised over the keyboard, wondering what I was going to say to you, and let me tell you, let’s talk about what all of Toronto is talking about. The heat. Dudes, it is so hot. It is record breaking hot, and despite being really muggy, it’s the driest summer we’ve had in 75 years. The only really significant rain was the stuff that pelted us during the rally. (Go figure.) Everything, people, plants, trees, dogs… everything is wilting, and it’s all we can talk about. This morning it was hotter in Toronto than in Mumbai – and it’s not like they’re having a cold snap. As I type this, at the end of the day with the worst behind us, it is 43 here, with the humidex. (For my American friends, that’s 109 Fahrenheit.) Today on the un-airconditioned subway (it was at least 40 degrees in there) the guy next to me softly swore under his breath, and then apologized. “I’m just… so hot.” he said, and I nodded sympathetically. It’s so hot that it’s impossible to get anywhere looking good. Opening the door to go out is like walking into a wall of heat, and by the time you get to where you’re going, you’re soaked.
As we approach each other, to shake hands or embrace, it’s preceded by a pause, then a statement – “Sorry, I’m pretty sweaty” and then nine times out of ten the mission is aborted, or you do hug, and both of you feel bad about the outcome. Today I was walking up the hill to the house (Amanda said “Oh, Mum, what were you thinking?”) and I stopped at a red light, and stood there with the sun beating down on me, and I felt a river of sweat run from the nape of my neck all the way down my body and into my sandal, and I realized that if I stood there for a few more minutes, I’d be standing in a puddle. (Yes, I realize as I type, that the astute among you will have worked out that if sweat can make it from my neck to my toes in a straight shot, then I wasn’t wearing underclothes. Knitters, my pets. If you can give me one decent reason based on proper good sense why a woman wearing a dress shouldn’t abandon underthings in these kinds of temperatures, I’ll grudgingly put them back on, but until that time, I’ll be embracing one of the advantages of the humble skirt.)
It is so hot, that my mother, out for a walk, found herself by the lake, and overcome by all of it, walked straight in, clothes and all. She has, she said, zero regrets.
All of this makes it especially awesome that I have fixed and finished a pair of mittens.* Warm, comforting mittens, that despite their beauty, make me hotter to even look at them, and I cannot conceive the emotional state I’d be in if I tried them on.
Unknown yarn stashed at least a decade ago, pattern loosely based on chart #68 from Latvian Mittens, 2.25mm needles, 72 stitches around.
Into the Christmas box they go. Someone pass me a cold drink.
*Winter is coming.