Broken by the heat

In September 2003, Mike & I went to “Festivals Acadiens” in Lafayette, Louisiana. Our aim was to spend three days dancing to live Cajun bands. That we did.

But we did something more.

We sweated.

We sweated like we had never sweated before. We were dancing all day long outdoors, on grass, to live Cajun bands. We couldn’t believe the heat. It was 88 degrees Fahrenheit and so humid we could hardly breathe. Still we danced along with hundreds of people old and young who surrounded us in a happy throng.

Then we heard a guy nearby saying, “Thank God the heat broke.”

What?

People in Southwest Louisiana know heat like Northerners know snow. It’s a way of being broken. You know there’s no use fighting it, so you give in. Louisiana folks are as broken to heat in summer as Wisconsin folks are broken to cold in winter. Mike and I have laughed for years about the guy who said “Thank God the heat broke.”

But now it’s August of 2012, and we’re not laughing anymore. This long hot Wisconsin summer isn’t even over, and already it’s a phenomenon.

We’re broken. Today it was only 90 degrees out. I didn’t even run the air conditioner.

Our son, Brian, is on a 10-week duty in Qatar with the Wisconsin Air National Guard’s 128^th refueling wing. He said the heat index the other day was 136 degrees.

Brian has some breaking-in to do.

[These are pictures that Brian's wife Rae took just before he left for Qatar. Brian is saying goodbye to their son, Liam Jonah.]