By mid-afternoon Saturday, our backyard thermometer hit 92 degrees. The final high for the day may have been even higher. I’m not a glutton for punishment. I quit looking at it. Sunday was even warmer.
For weeks, months in some cases, I’ve been watching weather reports of record scorching temperatures across the country and, ashamedly so, not really giving it that much thought. If anything, I was wishing we’d get some of that stuff. Instead we plowed through day after day, many of them starting out with the ubiquitous “marine layer,” followed by temps in the high 50s to the …