The County Fair

This morning, it’s 81 degrees (Fahrenheit; 27.2 Celsius) at 5 AM and it’s going to be 100 degrees F (37.8 C) with heat indexes of 105-110 F (40-43 Celsius). I don’t know if this is global warming, because it seems to always be this hot for the county fair.

County fairs are for kids. Their agricultural/homemaking roots still linger in many of the events — livestock and 4-H project judging, photography and quilt competitions. A carnival blocks off the main street, with a midway and luridly decorated rides. Fair food consists of funnel cakes, fried oreos, and bratwurst.

Children come for the rides; high schoolers wander in packs to see and be seen in their purple hair and tank tops. Adults shepherd the children or come for the country music and their children participating in the Young Miss/Mr. Maryville competition. Girls in matching spangled outfits perform choreographed jazz dance on the stage.

I walk around the fair feeling like an outsider, even as I know some of the people I see. I didn’t grow up on a farm. I don’t identify with country music. I don’t have children. I wonder, not for the first time, where my place is.

Sunday: Classical music and tea

I’m late today — just warming up for today’s reading/tweaking of Apocalypse. My last thorough pass-through, I hope. I plan to get halfway through the second half of the book; all the way through if my eyes don’t start to bleed (that’s meant figuratively; don’t panic.)

I don’t like the phrase ‘warming up’ on days like this because it’s dangerously hot this weekend in Missouri. Like 100 degrees hot. I haven’t even gone to work at the cafe this weekend because that’s too hot for me to go outside in. (Ok, fine, I could go outside in it but that much heat makes me lazy.)

The drink du jour is Ten Ren No. 913 King’s Oolong/Ginseng tea, a good solid Taiwanese tea a friend of mine gave me. It’s amazingly refreshing hot tea. My frumpy calico cat Girlie-Girl (of the six, the one most attached to me) sits on the couch right behind me, cleaning herself.

Playing on the stereo: Concerto in A Major, Bach. In my life, Sunday mornings lend themselves to leisure and tea/coffee and classical music in a room cluttered with hobbies and cats.

Heatwave

The high temperature today will be 100 degrees, with a 105 heat index. This means I’m likely not going anywhere today — no coffee shop stop, no morning walk, no visiting with people. I’m sentenced to involuntary indolence for the day

Here’s an (old) poem for your viewing pleasure:

Heat Wave in Rural Missouri

The sun burns sagging porches,

bleaching petunias and salvia.

The afternoon gasps its last.

From my window, nothing stirs –

I alone live, breathe.

Swooning,

I spy you strolling through a deluge of rain,

bearing me pansies and muguet,

your bowler and grey linen suit still crisp,

the last mirage before I fade –

Knowing I exaggerate, and my demise

is not imminent in this air-cooled room

does not detract from my reverie.