The first thing I noticed as I stepped off the plane, was the humidity, like I accidentally walked through a warm bath. I am not used to living in a hot house, like a Canadian tomato, so there will be an adjustment to the prolific glistening.
Back in Oregon it is dry in the summer. I never thought about it until now–it’s just the way it is. Sure, it is humid in the fall, winter, and spring, but we aren’t used to humidity in the summer, so this being warm and sweaty all the time is a new feeling. On the flip side, my dry skin thinks it is wonderful–although maybe that is the new skin cream that my mother gave me?
I’ve been here two weeks and I thought I was getting used to the humidity, and then I misjudged the outside conditions and found myself overheated after an easy walk. I have been trying so hard to ignore the humidity that I missed that it was still downright hot out there. I’m not good at separating the humidity from the heat, or how they affect each other. Working on that.
Today I walked to the library to print a letter for my mother, complete with pictures, and I was drenched by the time I got back. It was only a mile. Granted, I had intended to go in the morning and it was almost noon by the time I got myself ready to go. Note to self: get your ass out of the house before the temperature hits 90˚ and 75% humidity. That’s too hot for walking.
Then, in the evening, we had the most fabulous thunderstorm, my first here, but more on that in another post.
Stories From Jersey 