This is a whole post about the weather. No kidding. If you bore easily move on now. You’ve been warned.

Most of our so-called summer has been in the “If I don’t see the sun soon, I will kill myself” category which, of course, helps earn Seattle its location near the top of that particular list of human endeavors. I actually live just up the road from Forks; the better-read of you will recognize it as the home of the Twilight series, chosen for its annual rainfall. We pride ourselves in weather that pleases the night walkers.

All that said, we have been the garden spot of the nation this year, considering the boiling hot temperatures most of you have experienced. I moved to the Pac NW from the Midwest 15 years ago and have lost all tolerance for heat and humidity.

Last time I was on the other side of the Mississippi, it was like descending to Dante’s lowest level of hell. Even in the air conditioning my face was red as a baboon’s ass (to borrow a phrase from my niece). And with no activity more complex than lifting a fork, the stinking sweat poured dew glowed. I couldn’t wait to return to the dreary skies of the Olympic Peninsula. Even if I do have to scrape the moss off my person every so often.

I wish you all a cool breeze today.

“But what about the fair?” I hear you cry from the cheap seats.

Well, I loved it. And Riley loved it as he waved to his Mom who was next to me with a smile as bright as a shiny new dime. She loved it.

But Dylan, in the background under the hawk-like eye of JB, was just a bit suspicious of all this horsy, piggy, noisy, strobing color shit. Until it came to the funnel cake. Then he figured not bad. Not bad at all.