I was visiting my grandparents and it was hot.

Eighty degrees hot.

For those of you who don’t think that sounds hot, I will hazard a guess that you didn’t just come off a winter whose temps dipped to -40, (yes that’s Fahrenheit) followed by a cold, late spring. Let me just tell you, us Wisconsinites hit 50 and pulled out shorts and tank tops because it was so nice. We aren’t yet acclimated to hot. And the 80 degree, still, humid weather was airless and hot.

So, on such a nice, warm evening Aunt Carol thought Grandma would like to go for a ride on the four-wheel “mule.”

Concerned about the evening turning chilly, Grandma was all for bundling up to go out. (Please remember the -40 winter and late spring!) Carol was able to convince her to merely bring along her knit hat rather than wear it and so as we loaded up and headed out into the field, it was sitting on the seat between them close at hand.

Slowly cruising through the hay field, we watched the bobolinks fly up off their nests and then float back down. We occasionally stopped to pull patches of blooming yellow rocket out of the green field. We headed into the woods to admire all the wildflowers and, we sweated.

We sweated in that way that happens when it’s so humid that it seems to be impossible to muster a drip of sweat. Instead skin turns unreasonably sticky. The air was too damp to allow even another drop of moisture to evaporate off your skin, bringing it’s cooling relief.

But, it was a beautiful night, the company was wonderful and the bit of a breeze as we moved along was a welcome relief. I sat, took a few pictures and tried to ignore the stickiness of the evening. Soon I heard Grandma’s voice float back to me:

“You were right, it is quite mild.”

Now, I believe that one should treat the matriarch of the family with respect, even if their opinion differs from yours. Not to mention disagreeing with the woman who raised eight children is bound to be a losing proposition (just ask my dad how that turns out.) But love and respect aside, my hair was curling, my legs were stuck to the inside of my jeans and I just couldn’t stop myself from hollering back,

“HOT grandma, it’s called HOT!”