DIANE MAKAR MURPHY Humidity, rain and more rain -- my worst Ohio summer yet

I stood outside my garage with sweat darkening the front of my shirt. After a long walk, my skin was cold and clammy with sweat and humidity. "This is the worst summer of my --," I started to say.
But then I stopped. I couldn't really finish it with "life" because I spent one summer of my life in Houston, where the mosquitoes were B-52 Bombers and the only respite in an un-airconditioned house was a bathtub of cold water.
I also spent three summers of my life in Savannah, Ga., where people who order tea get iced tea by default -- all year.
So, I restarted my commentary on a summer that has seen enough water to float cars down streets in Boardman, and even more in Liberty and Columbiana, a summer that has mixed temperatures in a range of 30 degrees, a summer that has made my back yard unusable -- a feeding ground for blood-sucking bugs.
"This is the worst summer of the last 10 years."
This was certainly true. We've had bad springs in the last decade; springs that weren't, where winter's cold marched directly into summer's heat.
And we've had winters that went on too long or came too soon. And summers that were too short. We've even had summers that weren't hot enough. But not a summer like this. Not a summer where cars went swimming in the Best Buy parking lot.
Humid days
But, I could go even further with my comment. I could say more than this. I could take that decade and add 18 years to it. The years of my youth.
I adjusted, "This is the worst Ohio summer I have ever spent." There. Now, that's the truth.
My husband loves the heat, and while he recognizes there has been too much rain, he questions my judgment. "Is it humid?" he'll ask on days I can hardly breathe. I hate the humidity; it's like sucking air in through gauze. And I don't breathe well through gauze.
My dog doesn't breathe well through gauze, either. My dog hates walking on hot, humid days. He lies on a lawn and gives up. I must drag him home with the encouragement, "Come on. Let's get some water." He thinks it over. He gets up and breathes through some more gauze.
There IS no one to drag me home but myself. I do so only because the neighbors would frown upon me lying on their lawns.
Hair horrors
The humidity attacks my hair as well. It's genetic.
My mother rated vacation spots by how her hair reacted there.
She loved Las Vegas because, in Vegas, her bangs looked good.
She hated Houston.
I don't have bangs, but I do have an afro on humid days.
People ask, "Did you do something different to your hair?"
"No, I didn't," I reply. "My hair is a barometer."
I've never been in a tornado, but I suspect my hair will become straight if I ever am.
"Auntie Em, get in the shelter! Diane's hair is straight!"
And so, you have an excellent picture of how much I have loved this summer.
Add to these that the only tan I have mustered is on walks where I am dragging my dog through the grass on his back -- a farmer's tan, a tan that ends at my socks and shorts and shirt sleeves, and you have a picture of a desperate person who has not enjoyed this summer -- the worst Ohio summer I have ever spent.
I have a grotesque image of myself on the last day of summer, on my last walk of summer, lying on a neighbor's lawn with my pale face, stomach and feet -- my shirt sweaty, my skin clammy, my dog next to me and my hair like Michael Jackson's in 1974.
The forecast is for rain, rain and more rain.
My hair concurs. My dog concurs.
Unless something really amazing happens, this will certainly have been ... well, you know.
murphy@vindy.com