There’s been a heat wave hanging over Vermont; I’ve got my AC down from the attic where it lived all last year and my bedroom at a temperate 76 degrees farenheit (24.444 c, for the rest of the world), but the rest of the house is well in the 80s and 90s. Another joy of chemopause seems to be heat intolerance – I did fine last year, even in the midst of chemo; this year, I’m melting.
So, bugger this for a game of soldiers – I’m going to Scotland! Where the weather’s *bound* to be much cooler. I’ve mowed the lawn, I’ve foiled the bittersweet and the climbing roses’s plans for world domination; I’ve engaged a housesitter to care for Zoe (who has been doing a fine impersonation of a furry meatloaf). Bags are packed: wellies, raincoat, and chocolate upmost.
I’ll be back when it’s cooler. Or in August, whichever comes first.